


Pynchlettes- Snipettes And Snapshots

by NyxieNoc



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff, Language, M/M, Marijuana, Swearing, implied sex, mild nudity, unusual kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-03-25 22:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxieNoc/pseuds/NyxieNoc
Summary: I wanted to write a series of vingettes, little snapshots of Pynch, no particular timeline.  Spanning college to adulthood, tying in their family from my other fic (Just one of Billions of Stars) etc. etc. I'll add as Im inspired.  So many here have covered the topics of Pynch getting engaged, married, and I really like reading those so Im not going to try to do that. I'd just like to fill in the blanks between major life events.





	1. Mr. July

In Adam Parrish’s senior year of college, he received a thick padded envelope in the mail with familiar chicken scratches in the address field. He tossed it to his desk before heading to class and into the wintery day. He got a text before he made it into the building.

Ronan: did you open it?  
Adam.....  
Ronan: I got the tracking notification that it was delivered so I know you have it  
Adam: Yes, but I don't have time right now, I gotta get to class.TTYL  
Ronan: Gaaahhhhhhh open it!  
Adam: 3 hours, ok? Chill the fuck out.

Adam got several more winky face texts during the lecture, and knew that exactly 15 minutes after the three hour lecture ended he would be bombarded with pushy texts so he went back to his room in the co-op to see what the fuck Ronan Lynch was up to now. 

Adam ran a pair of scissors along the flap and out slid a glossy, spiral bound....calendar? A wall calendar. It was face down, and the back showed a wheat field in a cloudless summer day. He flipped it over. The front bore a picture of a bear of a man, hairy under overalls with no shirt, a ZZ Top beard, and a battered straw cowboy hat. He beamed sitting in a seductive pose on a green John Deere tractor. The cover read: Farm Hunks. What the actual fuck, Ronan.

The phone buzzed.  
Ronan: so??????????  
Adam: yeah um, so why did you send me a wall calendar of hairy fat farmers?  
Ronan: Look at July.  
Adam flipped to July.

July’s picture showed a landscape that was familiar, a plum tree in the background, the sun making its way westward, the time of day the Barns usually started buzzing with the sounds of bugs getting ready to do their nightly bug rave. Not quite sunset, but almost. And there, in the foreground with a scythe handle across the back of his neck and over his bare shoulders, was Ronan Lynch. In dirty and slightly tight jeans low on his hips, his bare chest and arms shaved and, were they oiled? Was it sweat? His washboard abs and the V shape of his hips bore little rivulets of whatever it was. It was awfully perfect to be just sweat. Ronan was clearly flexing his pecs and his arms rippled across the scythe as brown leather gloves gripped it. But it was his face, his fucking face that was the most unbelievable thing about the whole picture. Ronan was smiling. Not his “I'm going to snap you in half, motherfucker” smile, but the smile that Adam knew, intimately. Ronan was eye-fucking the camera with a perfect smudge of dirt on his cheek, and the look that Ronan gave Adam when he was about to toss him onto a piece of furniture and yank his pants off. Jesus fucking Christ.

Adam: Im calling you. Pick up dammit.

“Yessss?” Ronan spoke after picking up on the third ring. Adam could hear him smirking over the phone.

“What is the meaning of this?” Adam said, using a phrase they often used when something was ridiculous. It was one of their old inside jokes, swiped from the old people in the film Weird Science, one of their favorites. Adam said it in an old man voice when he did it. Ronan laughed. 

“I asked them if I could be Mr. July so you could look at it for your birthday month” Ronan said this as if it explained anything at all about what was happening. It did not.

“Back the fuck up. I'm lost. Who are they, and what the fuck is this?” Adam flipped through the rest of the calendar. He saw the other months had a few more old rednecks, a couple of dad bods, and one extremely butch lesbian posed suggestively with an oddly phallic shovel. Ronan was definitely the most beefcake of the months. 

“It was a fundraiser for one of the other farmers around here. His wife got cancer and he needed to take care of her and his farm fell to shit so we have been helping him out, and one of the other farmer’s wives, Mr. September, his name is Roy, anyway, his wife is a photographer. She suggested we all make the calendar and sell it as a fundraiser.” Ronan explained. “Do you like it?”

“Jesus Ronan. I don't know how I feel about a bunch of farmers wives looking at you like that. Its kinda cool though, I've got some serious bragging rights. I just don't understand how anyone convinced you to pose for it, and pose like that. I mean.... Jesus Ronan.” Adam sighed. He flipped back to July, still agog at the vision before him. 

“It was for a good cause” Ronan said nonchalantly as if people regularly pose like they're on the cover of a romance novel for a good cause. Like you do. Of course. 

“Im stunned. This is such an un-Ronan thing to do. You barely let me take selfies with you.” Adam chuckled.

“But do you like it? Ronan implored.

“Yeah I fucking like it. It's going to be July here all year. Ronan, that smile...”

“Yeah I was having a hard time and Maisy just told me to think about you, and that's when we got the shot.”

“Fuckin hell. I want to see all the shots that didn't make it in the calendar. Like, now.” Adam said, distractedly, he was still looking at the calendar.

“Didnt you find the thumb drive in the envelope?” Ronan asked. Adam went to the trash and pulled the envelope out, upending it into his palm. A little keychain thumb drive plopped into his waiting hand.

“So this is full of pictures of you that didn't make it into the calendar?” Adam spoke into the phone while simultaneously shoving the drive into the USB port and flipping his screen up.

“Yeah. She snapped some of Opal and stuff too.” Ronan said.

“Well then I'm gonna go so I can look at them. I still can't fucking believe you posed for a beefcake farmer calendar. How many did they sell? Did they make a lot of money for the guy and his wife?” Adam asked, slouching into his desk chair.

“Oh, it sold out. They are going to need to print more.” Ronan humblebragged. He was so transparent.

“Fuck’s sake. Are you going to believe me now when I tell you people are checking you out? When I tell you you're gorgeous?” Adam asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up asshole.It's mostly just lighting and posing that makes me look good.” Ronan grumbled.

“Oh so it's not the baby oil all over your shaved chest that does it?” Adam teased.

“Fuck you. It was apricot kernel oil, I will have you know.” Ronan said with mock indignance.

“Well I hope you kept some for when I come home in two weeks.” Adam said suggestively.

“I did. I’m gonna go. Don't break anything important looking at those pictures babe.” 

“Fuckin Lynch. Ok. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.” Adam made a kissing sound into the phone.

“Love you too.” Ronan kissed back.

 

Adam opened the folder. The photographer was really talented. She had captured Ronan swinging a hay bale, his arms taut, his eyes focused on something out of frame. There were pictures of him sitting on the big tree stump and drinking iced tea. Candid shots of him and Opal chasing chickens, their faces alight with mirth. One of him feeding Chainsaw something as she clutched her claws around his work glove. Ronan at dusk with a hoe over his shoulder, back to the camera, tattoo illuminated by the glow of the setting sun (and probably some photography lighting). In another, Ronan and Opal held a chalkboard with the words “We Love Adam” with hearts in the corners. Adam’s favorite, aside from Mr July, was the one where Ronan was laying in a pile of straw in the hayloft, fingers of light from the slats in the roof beaming down on him. He wore his ubiquitous black tank. One hand was behind his head as he lay on his back with his ankles crossed and the other hand reached to scratch the ears of a little orange kitten, one from the barn cat’s most recent litter. Another kitten, a calico was headbutting Ronan’s forehead, and yet another swatted at his boot laces.

“For fuck’s sake Lynch.” Adam groaned to no one in particular, shaking his head with a face cracking grin on his mouth. Two weeks couldnt go fast enough. A text pinged in.

Blue: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS FUCKING CALENDAR ADAM???!?!?!


	2. Camaro the Housepig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan and Adam have a house pig and their son Cian is a big fan.

Camaro the house pig was in love. The mini pig was the only farm animal allowed in the house. She had a pig door off the kitchen, and a lush dog bed in the living room, and a dish in the kitchen with her name on it. Opal was known to put bows and hats on her and take pictures. She came when called, trotting on tippy toes and snorting happily. She was spoiled and loved and happy, but now she was in love.

The object of her admiration was Cian. Cian was seven months old and was just beginning to eat food at the high chair in the kitchen. Eat might be an overstatement. Adam and Ronan had decided on a parenting method known as “baby led weaning” which was the process of introducing solids to infants by giving them large hunks of foods they could gum into submission. It was a very messy process. Cian almost always needed a bath after every meal. 

Cian squealing in the high chair was a sound that had Camaro running through the pig door expectantly. Cian squealing meant that soon, delicious and slobbery treats would fall from the sky and onto the floor and they were all for Camaro to gobble up. Banana chunks, avocado quarters, tofu, steamed sweet potato, anything Cian could squish in his little brown fist and shove into his face was inevitably tossed to the floor, and Ronan Lynch was not about to stop the pig from helping clean the floor. 

It didn't take long for Cian to be aware of Camaro, and start deliberately throwing food down to her, watching her snarf it up while he giggled and screeched. Cian made his best attempts at snorting in imitation.

One morning, Ronan traipsed into the kitchen wearing a onesie he had dreamt, a black one with wings and a fleece beak on the hood. Cian was on his hip in his yellow duck footie pajamas, Adam trailing behind in his otter onesie. They plopped Cian into the high chair and Ronan went about preparing a few infant appropriate foods while Adam played peek-a-boo to Cian’s delight. Ronan brought over a slab of firm tofu and a fourth of a banana. He held a ceramic coffee mug in his hand, the one with a snail on it, that was Adam’s mug. He lifted the mug to his lips and kissed the spot where Adam put his lips when he drank from it, before handing Adam the mug. Adam took it and sipped from the place Ronan had kissed. He smiled.

“Thanks Ro.” He said, and Ronan sauntered off. Cian had started to fist the foods on his tray, squishing banana between his fingers and then applying his fist to his slobbery mouth. Camaro trotted in from her cozy bed in the living room and waited expectantly under the high chair.

“Good morning Camaro.” Adam appraised. “Are you here to beg for snacks? Look Cian, your piggy is here to see you.” Cian flapped both arms and squealed, his mouth making an excited O. He swatted the tofu off the tray and it landed on the floor with a wet squelch. He peered over the side of the high chair to watch Camaro snort it up in milliseconds and look up waiting for more. 

Cian screeched and Adam winced at the high pitch so close to his face. Cian made snorty noises and squealed some more. Camaro sat and stared and Adam could have sworn she batted her eyelashes at the baby. Ronan walked over with a bowl that he handed to Adam. 

“Here. Maybe he will actually eat some if we just put it on the tray one lump at a time. Otherwise it's just going to be floor treats for the pig.” Ronan said, giving the pig an eye that suggested he was on to her game. He kissed the top of the baby’s head. “Eat something you little wiglet.”

“Gie! Gie! Gie!” Cian shouted suddenly. He stared hard at Adam. Adam looked up curiously. Cian peered at Camaro again and shouted “Gie Gie!!” again, looking from Adam to Camaro.

“Are you trying to say Piggy?” Adam was astonished. “Ronan, I think he just said his first word.”

Ronan quickly ran around the kitchen island. He picked up the pig and held her close to Cian.

“Is this your Piggy, Cian?” Ronan asked, skeptical but hopeful.

“Gie!Gie!Gie!” Cian gurgled and smacked Camaro on the snout with a slobbery, banana-y baby fist. Camaro tried to lick it. Cian giggled high and loud. “Gie!”

“Holy shit.” Adam said. “He is saying piggy, isn't he? His first word is piggy.”

“And not Dada or Papa...” Ronan quirked his mouth. “Id say I'm disappointed but it's too awesome that he is talking to be mad about it.”

“Right?” Adam nodded. They both wore awed expressions.

Opal slunk into the kitchen in her flannel nightgown, hooves clicking on the marmoleum. 

“Opal, Cian said piggy!” Adam grinned. Opal wandered over to the four of them and looked at Cian, head tilted.

“Cian, did you say piggy? Opal asked as if she didn't believe them.

“Oh-pah” Cian sputtered, his grey hazel eyes wide and pointed at Opal.

“Holy shit.” Adam and Ronan spoke in unison.


	3. The Toss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan beats Adam to the punch when it comes time to propose, so Adam finds another way to surprise Ronan.

Ch 3- The Toss

When Ronan had proposed to Adam the August before his final year of grad school, Adam was more than a little irritated that Lynch had beaten him to the punch, he was working up to a plan. But as usual Adam was busy overthinking the shit out of everything, and Ronan was his typical impulsive self, and had asked spontaneously during a Super Soaker battle in the front yard. He had a ring in his board shorts but he later admitted he kept that in his pocket at all times since Adam’s sophomore year of college. 

So Adam spent more than a little time trying to devise a way to surprise Ronan with something amazing. Ronan was doing most of the wedding planning, sending Adam things to look at and decide on, sending him to a tailor near campus to get fitted for his suit, things like that. There wasn't much Adam could really do as far as the ceremony or reception went, so it would have to be something altogether different. 

The idea came to him one morning as he spaced out over a bowl of cornflakes. He’d been thinking about stupid traditions like garter tossing and bouquet throwing riots, all things he was glad to be avoiding. All but one. The idea of carrying one’s spouse over the threshold. Adam snorted and nearly inhaled a cornflake when he pictured Ronan picking him up and carrying him into a house they’d lived together in for years. Because Ronan would, he lived for that shit. And because he was bigger, about three inches taller and forty pounds heavier, he often used his size to his advantage, picking Adam up, tossing him onto furniture, throwing him in a pool, tickling the crap out of him, whatever.

Adam had an idea. It was going to be tricky getting it past Ronan, but Adam was good at long range goals and he researched the shit out of everything until he had a solid plan. 

The first step was the sneakiest and the hardest. He called Ronan just to say hi as they did often, and had to find a weird roundabout way to ask Ronan how much he weighed, making up a story about maybe getting SCUBA certified for a possible honeymoon. 

“I don't know, like, 185?” Ronan answered. Adam wasn't sure Ronan had a scale in the house come to think of it, and probably hadn't been since the last time he was at a doctor, so Adam rounded up to 200, just to be safe. 

“How tall are you exactly?” Adam asked, hoping Ronan knew very little about SCUBA certification because these questions were not actually relevant.

“Um, Jesus.... Last count, uh, 6 foot 2? I don't fucking know.” Ronan had answered. He knew he was tall and that's where it ended. His driver’s license from when he was sixteen said six feet, and he was a skotch bigger than that so...??? 

And so it was that Adam Parrish was on the protein. It was surprisingly hard for him to put on weight. He had always had a hollow leg when it came to food, and he had the metabolism of a hummingbird, so that first semester he ate a lot of pasta and many omelettes, as well as protein smoothies and gross protein bars. He snatched gym sessions whenever possible, using an app to build up his shoulders, arms, back, legs and abs. He listened to Ronan’s awful techno while he lifted, it seemed to make him feel like some sort of Terminator robot on a mission and it passed the time faster. Sometimes he downloaded audiobooks of school textbooks he needed to be studying and liked killing two birds with one stone this way. Running on a treadmill while listening to a podcast of a lecture was way better than trying to stay awake at a desk reading the same lecture via transcript. 

He got a lot of looks from both men and women as he became a gym regular. He made sure that any time someone smiled or made eye contact, he waved his left hand, the one bearing the intricate twist of branches and leaves around his third finger. Most people got the hint. 

He found that on off days he missed the gym and how it helped him sleep better at night when he ran or lifted, so he ended up running around campus on the days he hadn't planned to go to the gym.

By Thanksgiving break he had put on ten pounds, mostly in his arms and shoulders, which were beginning to look more supple and less wiry. He struggled to think of how to explain the new look to Ronan during the holiday and hoped that he wouldn't notice, and that he could get away with wearing pajamas to bed because it was cold. 

Ronan definitely did notice and pajamas were a pipe dream, they never managed to stay on. Ronan’s mouth didn't betray his eyes. Adam caught him looking, feeling, squeezing, but he didn't say anything. Adam snuck out in the early morning to run before Ronan woke up and was home and in the shower before Ronan woke up. Thanksgiving break came and went and Ronan was still in the dark about Adam’s plan.

By the winter semester break, Adam had put on another six pounds and his back was beginning to show a lot of things it didn't before. Since he would be home for almost a whole month he devised a way to get his workouts in without taking off to the gym every day. He bought a canister of Ovaltine and dumped that disgusting shit out and poured his protein powder in it, and stuffed his nasty tasting protein bars into an empty granola bar box. Ronan hated granola, said it was a waste of oats that could have been delicious porridge, so he knew Ronan wouldn't open the box. 

Back at the Barns, he got up early to run and then found himself heavy things to move around the farm. He threw hay bales. He gave Opal piggy back rides that incorporated lunges and lifted her above his head while she laughed. He paid her off in treats not to tell Ronan. He flipped tires uphill. He did pushups and crunches on the floor in the bedroom when he had told Ronan he was studying or napping. He lugged sacks of chicken feed and horse shit, he filled the wheelbarrow with rocks and pushed it all over the place. Ronan was either cooking or fixing something or running to town so he had maybe noticed a bit of extra activity, but he hadn't noticed all of it, Adam was certain. He found himself grinning in anticipation of his big reveal to come in June, getting more motivated and excited as it grew nearer. 

In March, Adam had put on a total of twenty two pounds and was ahead of schedule for his goal. Ronan sent him to go try on the suit the tailor had made to see if it needed any more alterations. Adam couldn't get his arms into the sleeves of the jacket at all. The tailor shook his head. He had made it to fit the Adam of last October, and that Adam didn't live here anymore. The tailor re-measured and told him not to get any bigger before June, but Adam was pretty sure he would need another fitting in May. 

Than night he got a phone call from Ronan.

“Adam I called Guilio to see how the fitting went and he said you're too big for the suit. What have you been eating up there, straight up bacon sundaes?” Ronan ribbed.

“Well, I've been working- on school,” shit, Adam had almost slipped, “and I've been eating garbage and sitting my ass in a desk constantly so I'm not surprised.”

“I thought you looked a little bit thicker when you were here for Christmas. Im finally fattening you up, Parrish.” Ronan sounded like he was making a smug face even over the phone.

“Yup, Im chunkin out. You still gonna marry my squishy ass?” Adam asked, letting Ronan be smug for once, it was a great cover. 

“Yesterday.” Ronan answered immediately. 

“Awesome. Im totally letting myself go as soon as I lock it down.” Adam jibed.

“Awesome, me too. I'm going to grow back hair too, is that cool?” Ronan asked.

“Yeah whatever, hey, we could be bears!” Adam teased. “No, I take it back, you're too sweet to be bear. You can be a...you can be a pig! A hairy Irish pig!”

“Shut up,” Ronan snickered into the phone, “Just go back there in two weeks and make sure it fits, ok?” 

“Yeah Ro, will do. I’ll lay off the cheesy poofs in the interim.” Adam was damned good at this ruse.

“I seriously don't care if you gain fifty pounds and lose all your hair, though, you know that don't you? Like, I'm seriously looking forward to kissing your wrinkly old man lips with my own in a few decades. I love you. I can't wait to marry you.” Ronan sighed.

“Mmmm, old man lips. Thats hot.” Adam snorted. They both laughed. “I love you too. Talk to you soon.”

 

Over spring break, Adam made lots of excuses about being cold to not take off his clothes in front of Ronan and it was getting harder and harder to conceal his now significant muscles. He tried to make sure lights were low when they had sex. He also had to buy new clothes, which Ronan did notice, because Adam had worn the same ten shirts and three pairs of pants for years. He definitely was aware of the way Adam filled out a hoodie now, how his jeans were brand new and how they hugged his thighs in a way they hadn't before. He peeked on Adam once when he was showering and was stunned at the soap bubbles sliding down a bronzed and freckled expanse of shoulder muscles, over dimples at his lower back and over his sculpted ass. Ronan didn't know why Adam was obviously working on his appearance, but for once, instead of going straight to the insecure thoughts that would have once jumped right on him like a tick, he chose to just accept that Adam was taking care of himself and working on himself and not assume it meant anything more than that. He had to say something though.

“Parrish,” He began as they cuddled in the warm waves of post-coital contentment, “you told me you were getting fat...”

“I don't think I used those exact words-” Adam began.

“You know what I mean. But as far as I can tell there isn't an ounce of fat on you. You're definitely bigger though...” Ronan trailed off, tracing fingers over each of Adam’s eight prominent abs.

“Oh, yeah, I've just been doing some push ups in the morning to blow off some energy.” Adam said, glad Ronan couldn't see his face in the dark.

“I've never seen push ups do that to anyone Parrish.” Ronan raised an eyebrow that Adam couldn't see. 

“I dunno. I guess I'm one of those people that just doesn't have to do much to shape up” Adam shrugged.

“Uh Huh. Okay. Whatever Parrish. Its hot. I like it.” Ronan kissed Adams chest before nuzzling into him more. “Night. Imma sleep now.”

Adam slept too, after his heart stopped racing. He had almost gotten busted.

A month before the wedding, Adam went for another fitting, and nearly ripped the jacket trying to put it on. Giulio heaved a frustrated sigh, and this time Adam had the forethought to ask him not to tell Ronan he had outgrown the suit again. By this time Adam had put on thirty pounds. The doctor at the student health clinic that saw Adam for a sinus infection in April had eyeballed the chart and done a double take. Classmates and even professors were constantly giving him an amazed look-over. Adam found himself strutting around campus.

At long last, Adam graduated with his masters. Ronan, Opal, Gansey, Blue, and Henry whooped and hollered, and they partied it up at the fancy suite Gansey had insisted on and Adam had relented on. Blue told him to be thankful she had talked Gansey out of the penthouse. The following day they cleaned out his room and packed his shit, and they finally, finally went the fuck home to the Barns.

They only had a week after graduation for the wedding. They hit the ground running, picking up tables and flowers and going to the courthouse to pick up the licenses. Most days they hit the pillows at nine pm, exhausted. Adam snuck away to run when he found himself getting stressed and snippy. He stealthily found time to deadlift some hay bales and piggyback Opal while dragging a tractor tire from his waist.

Finally, the day came. The suit was snug in the shoulders. It fit though. The ceremony was all the things anyone who knew Adam and Ronan would expect. Sweet, touching, beautiful, there was swearing or course, and some tears, and a lot of laughing. Adam tingled. He wasn't nervous about saying vows in front of everyone, or any other element of the ceremony except the very last bit. He felt high as a kite exchanging rings with Ronan and when the time came for Henry, their officiant, to introduce them to the crowd as spouses and hollered at them to kiss each other Adam was smiling so hard his face hurt. This was it. This was the time. They kissed, the guests cheered. Their song, Modern Love by Bloc Party swelled and Ronan made to reach for Adam’s hand and take them down the aisle. Here it was. The time had come.

Adam pulled his hand away, his eyes alight with mischief. Ronan’s face was happy as it had ever been but slightly confused. With no warning, Adam crouched and shouldered into Ronan’s waist and wrapped his arms around his knees and hoisted him onto his shoulder. Ronan legit shouted “What!?” and Adam couldn't be more pleased with his reaction. The cheers from the guests went to another level when Adam turned to strut away from the altar with Ronan howling with laughter still dangling over his shoulder. He kept walking, far from the reception tent and the guests. He brought Ronan to a big tree stump in a little corner of the farm where no one could see them but they could see the guests heading to the reception tent. He put Ronan down.

Ronan’s face was beet red and tears tracks ran from his eyes. He was out of breath from laughing. 

“Adam what the actual fuck just happened?” Ronan asked with a manic expression. “Did you just fucking pick me up and carry me?”

“I fucking did, Lynch.” Adam shoved Ronan’s shoulder, grinning madly. 

“Holy shit Adam. Holy shit. What.... how... the fuck?!” Ronan suddenly grabbed Adam by the back of his neck with both hands and planted a wild kiss on him.

“You've carried me through college and grad school. You are my home base, the string to my kite, the foundation to my castle. You’ve been there for me at every step so that I always knew the net was under me if I fell. You’re my biggest cheerleader and you've been so constant and sure and supportive. I wanted to show you that I'm ready to carry you... Also, I wanted to surprise the shit out of you.” Adam smirked, cheeks burning.

“Well, fuck. I couldn't be more shocked. I never saw that coming. I saw you getting bigger but I didn't put it together at all. Fuckin hell Adam.” Ronan kissed him again, this time taking the opportunity to run his hands all over his shoulders and arms, squeezing.

“Ronan, we need to get to the reception...” Adam said, though he’d have rather stayed out here with just Ronan for... well, forever. 

Ronan groaned. “Do we have to?” Ronan whined like an actual 12 year old.

“Yes, we do. But tonight I'm going to toss you around the bedroom like a fucking doll.”

“Don't say that shit to me right now Parrish. I can't go shake people’s hands with an erection.” Ronan smiled but he was serious. 

“Come on. I’ll give you a piggyback ride.” Adam crouched and waved Ronan over. Ronan paused for a minute before jumping on and clinging to Adam’s shoulders. They headed to the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so, buff Adam is my jam.


	4. Techno Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan's friends hate his "techno" music, but Adam has figured out the secret code behind it.

Since the days of Monmouth, everyone loved to give Ronan Lynch shit about his taste in music. Most often they reduced it to simply “Awful techno crap” paired with a sneer and/or an eyeroll. Even Gansey, who wasn’t a shit talker so much as the others would raise eyebrows and make faces when he rode in Ronan’s car. He tried turning it down, once. Once.

Adam loved Ronan but even still, kept his distance from the techno, mentioning to Ronan that it wasn't that it was bad, it was just a lot. And that he couldn't tell where it ended or began. Ronan thought that both of those things were arguably the point of techno, but Adam only shrugged. 

Blue of course was the worst of the mockers and teasers. She made gagging noises and covered her ears with her hands whenever she was subjected to it. He turned it up. 

Henry sort of liked some of it, but once tried putting one of his own cd’s in the disc drive, and Ronan did not pull over to allow Henry to look for it on the side of the freeway.

 

What all of them failed to observe about it was that if you knew Ronan’s techno music selections well, you knew more about him than anyone. Adam eventually acclimated, but it had taken him awhile. Once Ronan had even flipped open his laptop and shown Adam actual flow charts explaining the origin, evolution, genres and subgenres, with citation and examples. Adam had taken notes, gone home and studied. While Ronan had never said, “and I like this when I'm depressed and this one's for when I am happy, etc.” Adam had over the years learned to decode the mysterious correlation between Ronan’s moods and subgenres of electronic music that most folks couldn't tell apart. In fact, Adam wasn't even sure that Ronan had the code cracked, so when he tested his theory, he was especially smug about his hypothesis being correct.

Adam would test by asking Ronan to take him for a drive when he was sad, or angry, or happy, and carefully noting the track selections which evolved from CD’s to iPods to playlists on his phone over the years. Adam became familiar with the artists and genres, looking things up when he got back to his computer later. Slowly but certainly he drew clear lines from Ronan’s Moods to Ronan’s music. 

When Ronan was feeling reckless and in the mood to race or drift, he put on dubstep or drumstep. He liked to shift into gears at the bass drops and skid around to the booming beats. To the naked ear, it sounded basically the same as the Gabber that he sometimes put on. Gabber was the one most of their friends complained about. Adam knew better though. Adam knew if Ronan put Gabber on, he was frustrated and wanted to smash things. It meant he had probably been talking to Declan again. If the Gabber was on, it was best to shut up and let it play unless you felt like getting an earful of Ronan’s shitty attitude. 

If his friends ever wanted to know how well Ronan’s sex life was going, they need only listen for the evidence. Epic ethereal progressive trance was Ronan’s morning after music, and this was the stuff Adam had developed an affinity for. He often woke on Saturday mornings to the sounds of it emanating from the kitchen as Ronan made pancakes and coffee and bacon. If he tiptoed down the stairs super quiet, he sometimes got to see Ronan dancing. Once or twice, he even watched as Ronan lip-synched along, arms outstretched, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes closed, grinning like an idiot and totally unaware of his audience. 

 

Likewise Adam knew that if he heard the tones of Darkwave or dark drum and bass emanating from headphones that Ronan was going to need space, followed by extra patience and care. It was these times where Adam would go out of his way to take care of Ronan, slipping glasses of water next to him, or leaving a sandwich on a plate without a word, or, if the sandwich went uneaten, ice cream. It was these nights that Adam was the big spoon, these nights where Adam didn't give him any shit or try to get in his pants. 

When either Ronan was driving up to visit Adam in college or pick him up from the train station, or when Adam was driving home for the breaks between semesters, he blasted saccharine happy hardcore, windows down whenever possible, speeding unreasonably down freeways or running around the Barns preparing the house for Adam’s return. 

When Ronan was focusing on a task or project that required cracking books or writing down lists or plans, he listened to click-hop or minimal house. When Ronan had shit to do around the Barns or housecleaning to accomplish he listened to bass heavy tracks over 150 beats per minute. Sometimes it was breakbeat, sometimes it was drum and bass with diva vocals, sometimes it was psytrance, but all of it kept him moving until the fence was fixed, the goats were penned, or the floors were mopped. 

Best of all, Adam knew that when he came home to a dimly lit house and a Ronan in the shower or tub listening to his particular flavor of downtempo and chill that Ronan had ideas about the night and it’s activities that Adam was going to enjoy greatly. Finding ambient music on meant that Ronan had shaved his face in anticipation of kisses, and that he was washing his whole body carefully in anticipation of more than kisses. Nights like these meant the sheets were fresh on their bed, and that the soft lamp would be on in the bedroom instead of the bright overhead lamps.

Ambient was Adam’s favorite.


	5. IGFILTF

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Ronan make everyone jealous as hell

Ch 5 The Goat Was Got

May was a busy time of year for Ronan, and by proxy, Adam. After work Adam came home to take Cian so Ronan could work on making cheese and ice cream in the goat dairy. Ronan and Opal were up late or up early to oversee kidding mama goats seven days a week. Opal again used her weird woodland critter superpowers to let Ronan know exactly when a goat would be kidding and even how many kids she carried. Ronan and Adam took bets on her accuracy and Adam lost every time he bet against Opal, even when she had predicted the alpine would throw triplets. 

All the work was leading up to the Memorial Day weekend Goat Festival in the small town closest to them, Sebastopol. Sebastopol was a weird hippie farm haven with lots of little farms surrounding a modest downtown with an old fashioned town square that was the site of the farmers market, movies in the park on summer nights, all the chili cook offs or high school car wash fundraisers, outdoor concerts, etc. were held there. The last weekend in May was the weekend of the Goat Festival. There were several small goat dairies in the area, but Ronan’s was the most well known. He had wiped the floor with the competition the last two years and this year promised to follow the trend. He had collaborated with the local ice cream parlor, Screaming Mimi’s and created a goat milk ice cream with local strawberries. He would be competing in the cheese making and showing his prize goats for the festival. Opal, always his most competent assistant would be leading a meet and greet at their booth, inviting local children to come into an enclosure and pet the four kids they had brought with them. Ronan had brought a snow white Alpine kid, two Nubians and one of the weird looking earless LaMancha kids. They were just a few days old and loved to nap in laps and be petted between bouts of running around the pen pell-mell, and climbing on hay bales and stumps brought from their farm. 

Ronan and two of his hired farm hands manned the booth and Opal ran the petting pen, which left Adam to enjoy the festival with Cian, occasionally checking in with Ronan for things like fetching everyone lunch, giving them bathroom breaks, or giving Opal a half an hour to wander on her own. 

The morning cloud cover had burned off and Adam found himself reaching for a tattered baseball cap to keep the sun off of him before embarking on another wander about the faire. He wore his battered jeans and his Lynch Family Farm tee and Ronan helped him to strap Cian to his back in the rainbow carrier, securing a tiny red sunhat under Cian’s fat little chin before kissing them goodbye and telling them to have fun.   
Adam strolled, viewing the other booths, some of them competing with Ronan, but even so most folks were familiar and he waved and nodded to his neighbors. He sampled some of their cheeses and made small talk about kidding and Cian’s latest developments. He strolled on to check out the food booths, buying several hand pies from the local pie place’s booth. He checked out some wool made from local alpacas and bought several hanks to ship off to Blue. He ate a Jamaica popsicle. He spent twenty dollars on one small cup of lemonade that he bought from two adorable and earnest children. 

Nap time for Cian approached and he was beginning to fuss. Adam bounced and swayed trying to soothe him but he was no doubt hot and grouchy. Adam headed back to the booth and handed Ronan the bag of pies for everyone’s lunch. Ronan lifted the fussy baby out of the wrap on Adam’s back and gave him a kiss before handing him back to Adam and returning to the crowd before him, everyone wanting to taste the cheeses and kefir. 

Adam took off one of Cian’s layers and changed him in the shade of the tree behind their booth and fed him a bottle and burped him before putting the wrap back on so that he could wrap Cian to his chest and put him to sleep. The baby snuggled to Adam’s chest and Adam tucked the wrap around him so that his little face was shaded. Then, with his arms wrapped around the eleven month-old baby, he sung to him softly the teddy bear picnic song as he swayed his hips slowly back and forth until Cian was out like a light. Ronan was great at feeding and playing with Cian, but sleep was Adam’s parent kung-fu. He smiled smugly, looking around at the bustling festival and his son snoozing against his chest. 

The trouble, however, with putting babies to sleep, is that often it made the parents drowsy as well. Adam snatched a hand pie from the bag and ate it, and then the drowsiness from putting Cian to sleep combined with the hearty meat pie made him logy in the warm day. He went to the trunk of the tree near the kid petting pen, and leaned against it, sliding slowly down until he could sit under its branches, cross legged and reclined. Opal was sitting on a hay bale with the Alpine kid munching on her hair while several small children pet and tried to hug the other goats. Adam glanced around, watching Ronan and his helpers sell the hell out of some cheese, Opal confidently running her own show, and he felt a warm burst of pride and contentment. 

Another body next to his pulled him quickly out of his reverie. A woman around his age had just taken a seat near him against the tree. She wore a white mini skirt over white lace bell bottoms, and a white top that looked more like an apron than a blouse. She jangled with big bohemian jewelry on her ears, neck, wrists, hips. Her long wavy hair had feathers and beads woven in, and she wore a lot of sparkly makeup on her forehead and around her eyes. Adam thought she looked pretty overdressed for a goat festival, but the bohemian look was very popular amongst the young mom’s in the small town. 

“Which one is yours?” She asked.

“Huh? Oh, the one with the galoshes. Opal.” He said, not looking at her when he spoke.   
“Oh, she is really good with the animals. My kid loves them, that's her with the braids” She gestured to a little girl in a pink pair of overalls with brown braids to her waist. The LaMancha goat was nibbling one behind her back. Opal snapped her fingers and muttered something in Latin to the goat and it dropped the braid and wandered away. 

“She looks like she is having a good time” was all Adam could think to say. 

“You got another little one there?” She peered over at Cian and Adam curled his arms around the baby protectively. 

“Yeah, he is sleeping.” Adam whispered for emphasis, even though it was unlikely that Cian would wake.

“Oh. Sorry.” She whispered back. She sat quietly for a moment but then her curiosity must have gotten ahold of her again. “They have different moms?” She asked. 

Adam suppressed a sigh. Here come the nosy questions, he thought. He wondered how much rope he could give this woman before she choked herself on it. “Nope.” he said, still not looking at the woman as she spoke. 

“Oh.” She said, but he could hear her gears turning. “Is his mom around here?” She looked around as if she would be able to pick this “mom” out of the crowd. Adam rolled his eyes.

“Nope.” He shrugged. 

She gave him a thorough once over, trying to find anything that indicated something about Adam she could use to keep talking to him. Adam bore his eyes into the back of Ronan’s head twenty feet away. Help, he thought. HELP ME RONAN. He tried to will Ronan to come to him with his mind.

“Nope around here or just nope to being around in general?” The woman asked. Jesus, Adam thought, she is thirsty or nosy or both. 

“Nope to both.” Was the shortest answer he could come up with.

“So you got these two all by yourself? You're such a good dad.” Adam did not understand how this made him a good dad, it seemed pretty basic. She continued. “Look, and your baby wearing and everything, that's so cute.”

“Thanks?” he shrugged again. 

“Im Cassiopeia.” She offered a hand. 

“Adam.” he said, but then indicated that his hands were busy holding the baby so he couldn't shake hers. 

“It's just us two, too. Me and Cygnus.” She paused. Adam waited for it. Here it came.... “Maybe you three could hang out with us some time, do a playdate? Cygnus loves babies, and it looks like she an Opal are getting on well.” 

Adam wanted to scoff but kept it polite. Opal was showing no interest towards Cygnus, and was focused completely on the goats. He glanced towards Ronan again. Save me, he thought as hard as he could.

When Adam did not answer immediately, she went on. “Of course, mama is always looking for a new friend too.” She smiled and legitimately batted her eyes.

“Oh, Um. (RONAN HELP ME) Right now it's a very busy-” he was cut off by Cian stirring in the carrier. Adam patted and shushed until he settled again.

“Awwwwwwwwwwwwww. That's so cute. You are the best dad. You're so good with him.” She cooed, and leaned in closer to peer at Cian. Adam felt her long hair brush his arm and the smell of patchouli (gross) waft towards him off of her. Finally, finally Ronan turned around and Adam locked eyes with him, pleading.

Ronan spoke to the employee nearest him and turned, striding with purpose towards Adam with that smile that said “who did I need to fuck up?” When he was three feet from Adam he crouched down to the ground and crawled to Adam on his hands and knees.

“Hey handsome.” He purred, before carefully meeting Adam’s lips with his own, lingering and languid. He sat back on his heels. 

“Hey.” Adam smirked.

“Who is your friend?” Ronan turned that blade-like smile to Cassiopeia, sticking out his hand to shake. 

Cassiopeia looked like a goldfish, mouth open, then closed, then open, as her gaze flitted from Adam to Ronan as the realization slowly dawned on her. She regained some of her faculties, enough to mumble her name as she shook Ronan’s hand. Now she looked like she needed rescuing from awkwardness. Adam was stifling snickers as Ronan laid a possessive hand on Adam’s thigh.

“Well it was nice to meet you. Your kids are really cute.” She said, standing and brushing grass off her pants. “Cygnus! Baby, lets go get popsicles!” She hollered as she made long strides towards the pen to collect her kid. 

Ronan immediately took her spot next to Adam under the tree. “Jesus, Ronan, I've been trying to send you telepathic messages to come rescue me for like, ten minutes.” Adam spoke when Cygnus and Cassiopeia were out of earshot.

“I can't take you anywhere. I even put my name on your shirt and still I have to watch every woman between eighteen and seventy check you out and try to steal my baby too. And the other gays, Jesus. I thought I was going to need to toss ice water on a few guys.” Ronan shook his head and laughed softly.

“Seriously?” Adam was always a little incredulous at the idea that people checked him out. 

“All fuckin day. Watching you walk through the crowd you make ripples of people rubbernecking.” Ronan reached out to stroke Cian’s little fist.

“Yeah well that blonde in the red jeans must have had about ten cheese samples by now.” Adam gestured to a busty blonde woman lingering around the booth.

“Ha. You're a DILF.” Ronan teased, snaking his arm around Adam’s shoulders.

“Shut up. You're a.....a.....IGFILTF.” Adam said, leaning his head on Ronan’s shoulder.

“What even is that?”

“Irish Goat Farmer I’d Like to Fuck” Adam grinned.

“Oh for fucks sake, that's terrible. You're fired.” Ronan blushed to his ears. “Come on, let's make a loop around the festival holding hands so everyone can see that their hopes are dashed.” 

Ronan pulled Adam to his feet and Adam swayed and settled the baby as Ronan told the booth workers he was taking off for a bit. They walked hand in hand through the festival, at one point stopping to kiss near the center of the event. Both of them muttered things like “green shirt, twelve o’clock” to alert the other to other staring or whispering festival patrons. When Adam and Ronan shared an ice cream cone, Ronan could almost hear hearts breaking all around them. 

Cian woke and Ronan pulled him from the carrier to hold him high above him as the baby squealed. He pretended to eat the baby and held him like he was Superman and made him fly to Adam’s face for kisses. Adam snatched him back and set Cian on his hip before pulling Ronan to him with his other hand until their foreheads pressed together. They forgot about the attention they drew, the people who had stared and gawked, and for a few moments it could have been just them in the center of the busy throng of people. Their lips met while they still smiled.

The moment popped like a soap bubble when the Emcee on the P.A. announced that they would be awarding the prize ribbons for best cheese. Cian startled and cried and Adam helped Ronan wrap him to his back. They stood and waited to hear results.

Later that evening when they were home and settling in to the evening, Adam looked at the pictures on his phone that a friend had taken of Ronan accepting his fourth award, Cian on his back, Adam at his side, Opal holding a kid next to Adam, all of them beaming. Looking at the photos, Adam knew without a doubt that every extra shift and long night of studying had been worth it if it had brought him to this moment in time.


	6. Same shit, different day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost every day at Lynch Family Farm is the same as the last. What a way to live.

Adam pulled his dusty Nissan Leaf into the gravel drive in front of the grey and white ranch style home that he lived in with Ronan, Opal, and Cian. Before he was even out of the car, a nubian goat kid had wandered over to investigate the car. Adam shoved it along with his hip as he reached for his messenger bag and jacket out of the backseat, grabbing an errant baby shoe and a squeaky giraffe as well. He kicked the door shut before plugging the car in and heading up the front steps.

Inside he stepped out of his shoes and hung his coat and bag in the “drop zone” he had insisted on creating when they bought the house. Everyone had a hook and a cubby for their stuff so there needn't be any “where the fuck is the goddamn diaper bag?” conversations. At least,there weren't supposed to be, but there inevitably were, because Ronan. He walked into the kitchen and washed his hands and chugged a pint of water, then took off his stuffy oxford and slacks. He changed into sweats and a tee before heading to Cian’s nursery to find Ronan and the baby. 

Inside he found them both plus Opal. Opal was making a shamble of sticks and string and a stone with a hole in the center, worn smooth by water. Adam guessed this was Opal’s method of divination or scrying but she didn't ever explain it. She just kept things like that in her pockets and when she was idle she’d throw them together in some impossible looking configuration and stare at it as she turned it in her hands before wadding it up and stuffing it back in her pockets with a look of quiet satisfaction.

Ronan was sitting on the floor a few feet away from Cian’s crib. Cian was standing on wobbly baby legs, clutching the slats of the crib in a baby death grip, his eyes on the prize in Ronan’s hand, a cube of watermelon the size of a sugar lump. Watermelon was Cian’s favorite food this week and he eyed it with fascination, a strand of drool dangled from his chin as his free hand reached for it. 

“Mah” Cian opened and closed his fist.

“Naw dude. You want it, walk over here and get it.” Ronan lured him. Cian was almost one and he was a super fast crawler so he hadn't been too motivated to walk, content to cruise furniture and crawl to get everywhere. 

“Hey y’all” Adam said, stepping into the room, planting a kiss on Opal’s forehead, then Ronan’s, before walking to where Cian stood clutching the crib and getting down to his knees.

“Cian, look, Papa is home” Ronan smiled but his eyes flicked over to Adam’s and he gave him that look, the Ronan Lynch patented “Im gonna get in your pants later on” look. 

“Pah” Cian took his eyes off the watermelon for an instant to flap his arm at Adam. 

“Dada teasing you with watermelon again?” Adam said, holding one pointer finger out, just out of Cian’s reach so he would have to let go of the crib to grab it. “Lets go get it.” 

Adam walked on his knees, supporting Cian with his long finger as the baby toddled towards the watermelon. When they were two feet from Ronan, Adam sat down and Cian stopped, tugging on the finger before abandoning it in favor of the fruit. He let go, and unaided took the four steps to Ronan’s outstretched palm which he had just reached when he landed on his butt with a plop. Ronan presented him with the reward and Cian snatched it up, shoving it in his face.

“Did you fucking see that!?” Ronan grinned. “Opal you missed it, he walked.”

“Wooooo” Opal said sardonically, not looking up from her shamble.

“Maybe you can dream some sort of fishing rod type contraption that dangles watermelon chunks in front of his face to make him walk more, Ro.” Adam joked, shifting over to Ronan to give him another kiss.

“Oh my god, can you imagine the looks at the gay playgroup?” Ronan snorted.

“They will all want one. They all ready all want our baby because he is better than their babies.” Adam said, leaning into Ronan’s shoulder. “You got work to do?” 

“Yeah, I need to give some of the new kids some vaccines and I need to make some phone calls to some of the stores for cheese orders. I prepped a lasagna during nap so, at five just pop that in the oven and I’ll come back in for dinner.” Ronan said while using the bib that was always around Cian’s neck these days ( he was an epic drooler) to wipe spit and watermelon off the child’s chin. 

“Ok babe. I got this. Go do your thing.” Adam said, pulling Cian into his lap and giving Ronan a brief yet sweet kiss before Ronan stood to go.

“See you in a bit.” Ronan called as he strolled out the door. Opal followed.

Adam went about getting a flannel wet in the bathroom sink to wipe down Cian’s hands and face. He threw one dirty bib in the hamper before putting on a clean one, this one looked like a red bandana, and it looked adorable with Cian’s plain white onesie and Osh Kosh overalls. Farmer baby.

“Pah” Cian said, locking eyes with Adam intently.

“Yeah, Papa.” Adam smiled, then they walked into the hall and Adam pointed to a picture of Ronan on their wedding day, grinning at Adam out of frame in his black suit with the pewter tie and the blue lily boutonniere on the lapel. “That's Dada.”

“Dah” the baby attempted to swat at the picture. He squealed. Adam pointed to another frame.

“There’s Aunt Blue and Uncle Gansey and cousin Noah....” he looked at the picture of the three of them posed for family photos around the beech tree at Fox Way. Gansey trying to look casual in a designer polo shirt and cargo shorts that surely cost more than any reasonable person would pay for two yards of cotton and a button. Blue held Noah on her hip, his long auburn curls framing his chubby toddler cheeks and huge hazel eyes. Blue was of course wearing something she had made herself, but with arguably better materials than she had access to ten years ago. They smiled as though the photographer had just said something funny.

Adam pointed to another picture. “There’s Uncle Henny.” 

“Ooooooooooo” Cian reached for the picture of Henry Cheng posed like a lazy cat on the hood of his latest ridiculous sports car, completely ironically and self deprecating in black bike shorts a hot pink shirt that read “watch out for my body rolls” in huge gold block letters.

“There's Uncle Matty and Opal” Adam held Cian up to the picture of Matthew giving Opal a piggyback ride as she threw a water balloon towards the camera. “And there is your Uncle Declan and your Auntie Siobhan,” Adam tapped the frame of the picture that showed Declan and Siobhan laying on a blanket under a palm tree on a white sandy beach somewhere where there were volcanoes, both of them so Irish they blended in with the sand.

“Pah” Cian said, and Adam followed his eyeline to the picture of Adam in his cap and gown accepting his masters degree.

“Yup” Adam smiled and Cian tipped forward in his arms and his wet open mouth collided with Adam’s face. Adam laughed and wiped his face on his shoulder before planting an exaggerated smooch on Cian’s fat brown cheek. He headed down the hall and into the kitchen. 

Adam spent the next two hours laying on the floor and letting Cian climb all over him, letting Cian smell all the spices in the spice rack, letting Cian crawl after the house pig and pull on her ears and tail. At some point there was a diaper change, a load of laundry, and putting the lasagna in the oven, but mostly, Adam just lazed around the house and played with his son until Ronan banged open the back door and went to wash up in the kitchen sink. Most days were like this. For Adam, who’d never had a home or a family before Ronan, it was mundane, normal, docile bliss. Not even Ronan could have dreamed it better.

Ronan set about making a bowl of baby snacks for Cian, a strip of boiled lasagna noodle, a stewed tomato, some ricotta. Adam set the table. Opal filled the water pitcher. Family dinner occurred as it did nearly every night, with Cian throwing more than he ate, and Adam talking about work and Opal talking about stuff she saw that day and Ronan eating food like he was in prison and someone was trying to steal it. Afterwards Opal would play with Cian while Adam did dishes and Ronan ran a bath upstairs.

Opal handed Cian off to Adam so she could go read in her room and Adam stripped Cian and tossed his obliterated clothes into the hamper before bringing the baby into the bathroom where Ronan was waiting in the tub, bubbles everywhere. Ronan held his arms out to collect the squealing child.

“Aren't you ever worried he is going to pee with you in there?” Adam asked, sitting on the closed toilet.

“I'm one hundred percent sure he has. Its baby pee. It's not like he drinks beer.” Ronan said, reaching for a washrag with yellow ducks on it. “It's definitely not the grossest thing that happens to me in any given day.”

“I guess that's true. “ Adam handed Ronan the baby soap. He watched as Ronan tenderly scrubbed and rinsed the baby, plopping bubbles on his head and blowing raspberries on his round belly. Watching Ronan be a father made Adam all kinds of swoony. 

Cian was squealing and smacking the water and Ronan flicked water back at him in little splashes, and everyone was having a good time until Ronan accidentally got water in the baby’s eye. Cian stopped playing abruptly and leveled a scowl at Ronan. He didn't cry, he glowered. 

“Holy shit Adam. Did you see that?” Ronan looked at Cian, grinning with recognition. “He made your face. That face you make when I do or say something stupid. He-” Ronan roared with laughter and handed the baby to Adam who was waiting with a hoodie towel. “He looked at me like I'm an idiot and he looked just like you!” Ronan wiped a tear from his eye as his face turned red with mirth. 

“I've never made a face in my life.” Adam tried to deadpan, and failed miserably. He stood and rubbed the baby dry, handing Ronan a bath sheet as he stood and drained the tub. “Get your Irish ass in some pajamas, Im gonna put my little mini me to bed.” Adam shook his head as he carried Cian off to his room. 

Adam rubbed Cian’s brown butterball body with coconut oil before putting him in a diaper and footy pajamas. He rocked him and sang;

“At six o’clock their papas and daddies will take them home to bed  
Because they're tired little teddy bears”

He set Cian on his back in the crib and then grabbed a thin silk handkerchief which he dragged it across Cian’s face three or four times and then, like magic, the baby was asleep.

“That never gets less amazing, Adam.” Ronan whispered from the doorway. "Most days I have to put him in the wrap for naps."

“Pshaw” Adam said, walking slowly towards Ronan and snaking his arms around his hips, leaning in for a kiss, which Ronan was happy to offer. Watching Adam be a father made Ronan all kinds of swoony too, apparently, because kisses went from PG-13 to R rated in moments as Ronan dragged Adam into the hall, softly closing the door to the nursery as Adam pressed his body against Ronan’s as thoroughly as possible. Ronan draped his arms over Adam’s shoulders and let Adam back him down the hall to their bedroom. It was how most nights went, day in, day out. Work, play, dinner, bath, bedtime...perfect.


	7. Who are you without your pain?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I relate to Adam a lot, down to being deaf in one ear and escaping abuse from a substance abusing violent narcissist. I wanted to write about who Adam is without all the angst and gnashing of teeth that TRC depicted, because I know firsthand that just getting out of their house wasnt the end of my parents effect on me as I grew, and that redefining myself has been my greatest method of healing. I imagined that Adam too might have more development when he actually had the time and resources to do things for himself. Things he wants and not just needs. 
> 
> So this is literal navel gazing I suppose.

Ch7 Who are you without your pain?

Adam woke up alone but remembered Ronan kissing him good morning earlier, just not how much earlier. Ronan always did that on weekdays, woke up to milk goats and left Adam with a kiss and the baby monitor. Adam’s phone was about to chime his alarm anyhow, so he sat up and yawned, swinging his legs out of bed, hearing the bones in his feet crack like popcorn as they bore his weight.

He schlumped to the bathroom and did morning bathroom things. Before jumping into the shower, his reflection in the full length bathroom mirror startled him. He so often thought of himself as the kid from the trailer, skinny, tan, scarred, that sometimes when he saw a man in the mirror, he took a second to recognize himself. Standing there in the form fitting boxers, a significant upgrade from the paper thin ones he had afforded in high school, he saw himself as if he were a stranger. His hair was, as always, wild and messy, but now with threads of grey at the temples. He was only twenty eight, but he guessed he would prefer to have premature greys than premature balding. He ran a hand over his chest, scratching lightly. He was easily forty pounds heavier than he had been in high school, and sandy hair a shade darker than the hair on his head made a soft fuzzy patch over his chest and thinned gradually to a fingers width wide trail below his navel. He’d found his preferred high of choice, besides Ronan, was lifting and running. The extra forty pounds dispersed all over him, filling out once visible ribs, knobby knees, and his back no longer allowed Ronan to count his vertebrae. His tan had faded a bit, as he only worked out in the sun, no longer working in the sun. His skin was no longer dry and tight, his lips never chapped anymore, his hands only had calluses from weights and tools, not labor. He was, without a doubt, a grown ass man.

In the shower he spaced out under the water, thinking about how weird it was that he felt like he was still a kid, but saw a man in the mirror every morning. His therapist told him most people feel that way, well into old age. His therapist also reminded him that he was not, in fact, a kid, but a partner, a professional, a father. His therapist also, also reminded him that he had indeed accomplished all of the goals that his boy self had set for him, and more, quickly and well. Adam struggled in therapy at first, when he first began going in college. He downplayed the abuse he suffered, downplayed the stress he was under, minimized himself and his struggles, and held himself to a standard of emotional capability that he would have told anyone else in his shoes was unreasonable and that it needed to stop.

If anyone else were in the shoes Adam wore as a young man, he would have shaken them by the shoulders and told them to go easy on themselves, they were doing their best, to be kind to themselves, and love themselves. As a budding therapist, he would have instantly reconized the symptoms of being raised by an abusive narcissist and the fallout from it in anyone but himself. His constant perfectionism a byproduct of trying to keep from pissing off his father by doing something “wrong.” His habit of taking care of himself last was the result of being told he was selfish for having basic needs as a child. Even as he cognitively understood how the abuse had shaped him, he found it hard to drop old thought processes and coping mechanisms that no longer served him. 

As he grew and learned more about what he had in common with nearly everyone who had suffered from abuse, and learned to allow himself to be healed, he began to realize how much of his person was tied to what happened to him. It wasn't all bad, his tenacity, his ambition, his ability to judge character, his patience and compassion was all what he had learned and gained in spite of his upbringing. Even the anxiety and perfectionism had some merits, after all it had him graduated early and placed in a highly desirable job even before graduation. 

However whenever life got complicated, whether that was the cross country move, the adoption of his son, or anything beyond the basic life stuff, the abused kid returned, second guessing everything and anything. He made a point to go back to therapy for this, because as reassuring as Ronan was, as constant as his support had been and would always be, Adam needed an objective stranger to tell him that he was normal. He needed to hear that he wasn't going to be a monster like his father, that he wasn't going to fuck everything up because he was stupid and selfish from someone who didn’t love him unconditionally as Ronan did.

Adam stepped out of the shower, toweling off before dressing from the neatly folded pile on the closed toilet lid. Work clothes consisted of navy slacks, tailored of course, and because it was cold and it was friday, a taupe shawl collared sweater with a smooth wood toggle button at the neck. He tossed waxy product into his hair, and a post-shaving balm on his face. He went about putting on his watch, sliding his phone and laminate pass into his pocket. All the while he thought to himself that although he had achieved the image of himself that he had aspired to so many years ago, and although he still felt like that kid in the apartment above the church much of the time, he had grown to a whole person. A person not defined by the pain they had endured, or by the endless work they endured to make themselves, but as a person. Adam was no longer a troubled kid with too many responsibilities and not enough resources, working himself to a tissue paper thin version of himself. No, now he was an adult who had overcome a lot to get where he was, and was both proud of himself and the kid he had been for overcoming the odds. Now he was an adult who owned a home and had an amazing family and spouse. Now he was a man who had time to like things like woodworking, learning Spanish, baking bread, going to baby swimming lessons with Cian. He now had the bandwidth for things like reading for pleasure rather than cramming for tests, he had the audacity to waste time doing fuck all on a Saturday, though he didn't do that often. Adam was no longer defined by his obstacles, he was a man of his own creation, he got to decide who he was. Much of who he was came from wanting to be the person Ronan saw when he looked at him, but no small part of it was due to Adam’s own need to separate himself from all the things he knew he did not want to be, especially in his role as a parent.

Dressed and groomed, he heard Cian babbling “pah pah pahpah dadadadada” over the monitor and saw him pulling himself up on the sides of his crib from the creepy green screen. With a final look at himself in the mirror, Adam Lynch began another day on his own terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, my experience with abuse isnt meant to speak for everyones, and I hope no one would assume that, because its ridiculous. 
> 
> If youre a kid reading this and living in abusive household, I want you to know that you are worth something, that your abuser lies. You are wanted and loved and you will be free. One day you'll get out and you never have to look back just because youre "family" with your abuser and their enablers. Run.


	8. Supergay Playgroup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan joins an LGBTQ playgroup. Hilarity ensues when some well meaning busy body sets off a Ronan land mine.

The Supergay Playgroup

Ronan had resisted, oh had he resisted when Adam suggested he take Cian to the weekly LGBTQ parent playgroup that he found on Nextdoor.com. Ronan did not have many friends, and even fewer of them were other queers. They’d been in Virginia up until three years ago, and Ronan had been a hermit for the most part during that time. Adam liked the idea of joining an LGBTQ group on campus but between work and 18 units a semester, he had no time for non essentials.

What it took to finally convince Ronan to go was a reminder that last time Ronan had taken Cian to a park by himself, someone had called the cops because they saw some scary dude with what looked like a stolen baby, and the police had come out and made Ronan explain his entire life story before letting him leave the park, which he never returned to. For all it’s progressiveness, Northern California still had its rural busybodies, and though Adam sort of understood why some nervous mom would see Ronan and think the worst, it was still ridiculous. Was it so hard to just ask a person? Didn't the giant diaper bag with skulls on it give it away?

Ronan had said he just wouldn't go to the park and they could build a play structure on their property, but Adam reminded Ronan that socialization was important lest their kid grow up to be an asshole who doesn't know how to share. He reminded Ronan that Cian needed to see other people who weren’t white. It took some wearing down and Adam had to go with Ronan the first time, but he finally went, and kept going every week.

And so it came to be that every wednesday at 10:30, Ronan and Cian went to what became known amongst the members as “Supergay Playgroup.” Despite himself, Ronan made friends and enjoyed them.

There was Chris, a transman who birthed and chestfed his daughter Aubrey, who was a few months younger than Cian. Sometimes Chris’s partner Leif came along too. They both had biting wit and sniped at each other lovingly in a way Ronan found awfully familiar and endearing. 

Steve and Josh often came with their adopted son Malakai who was almost two. Malakai was hilarious and Cian was always watching him with fascination. Cian pulled on his tiny braids once and made Malakai cry, so Ronan gave him a piggyback ride until he stopped crying, and now every week Malakai begged for another one.

Lori and Joy brought their twins, Gavin and Holly. Lori was a tiny Filipino butch who was currently pregnant with another kid, even though the twins were only eighteen months old. Joy had carried the twins and they had her fusilli pasta black corkscrew hair and her dark eyes. Ronan of course thought Cian was cuter but couldn't deny that the twins looked like they could be in a Gap ad. 

Sometimes other folks stopped over, but the core group was Ronan, Chris, Steve, Josh, Lori and Joy. They talked about the frustrations they all shared, sleep deprivation, barf, poop, etc. They also talked about the bullshit comments they got from clueless straight people. Steve had had a middle aged white woman in a baby yoga class ask him flat out how much he had paid for their son. Chris and Leif were in a restaurant when someone asked “where did you get her?” and Chris had been asked to leave a breastfeeding support meeting that was for women only. When Lori began showing a round belly around work, people said more than once, “but I thought you were gay?”

Ronan was a little astounded to hear the tales. If his family were still in Virginia he would have expected comments like that, but northern california was supposedly a flagship of tolerance, or as Declan had called it, “the Gaypublic of Drugafornia.” Ronan didnt get out socially a lot, what with being a misanthrope and all so he had not yet encountered the nosy yoga moms and uber liberal WASPs that the others had described. Well, no, there was one time when he had come to pick up Adam and Cian from baby swim lessons and had to nearly fight off a gaggle of moms who were thirsty as hell. When Adam had handed the baby to him and kissed him quickly on the lips in front of them, Ronan thought he heard a low collective grumble coming from the pool. Still, no one had been rude, and no one had been hostile.

Until that one time.

It was another one of the Supergay Playdate meetups at the park they usually went to. It was a sunny but not hot day and there were a lot of other park goers, more than usual. Ronan was pushing Cian in the baby swings and talking to Joy while she pushed one of the twins. She was asking him about his goat product labels, as she was a graphic designer and thought she might be able to work on them with him in exchange for some cheese and milk. Another parent plopped a sticky toddler in the baby swing on the other side of Ronan and began to push.  
Ronan avoided interaction because he hated small talk and strangers in general. Besides, he was talking to Joy.

So his hackles were already up and the Ronan Lynch scowl made a reappearance when the woman, a rail thin white woman with dreadlocks piled high on her head emitting an aura of pot vapor and essential oils, spoke.

“Wow, man your kids are like, giving off such a pure aura. This little one looks like such an old soul, he must have had many past lives.” She trailed off. “How close are they in age?”

“Jesus, I don't know.” Ronan shrugged.

The woman giggled. “You don't know how far apart your kids are in age?”

“Kids? What. No. That one’s not mine.” Ronan set his jaw, annoyed. 

“Oh you're not a couple? I thought you might be because both babies are, .. like her” She nodded to Joy. Joy quirked her mouth. Joy’s daughter Holly looked just like her, spiral curls, bright brown eyes, deep chocolate colored skin. Cian was also brown and with black hair, but that's where the similarities ended. Cian had hazel eyes and straight black hair, his skin was more of a caramel. Besides all of that, neither of them looked one bit like Ronan. This woman was clearly high.

“Oh, yes, all the brown babies in the whole park are mine.” Joy scoffed. Ronan almost choked on a laugh. The woman looked at her quizzically, not picking up on the fact that she was being mocked. 

“This one’s yours then? Are you babysitting today for his mama?” She waved to Cian and made faces at him as she spoke to Ronan.

It was a shame for this poor lady that Ronan Lynch didn't lie. After all the tales he had heard from his friends about people making heteronormative assumptions in public places, he felt it was too good an opportunity to pass up to school someone. “I don't babysit him, I parent him.” he said brusquely. He widened his stance in the sand, body language all challenge. Bring it, lady.

“Oh yeah, I mean, of course. You look like a great dad.Your daddy is like that too, isn't he, Siddhartha?” She stammered as she pushed her kid. Joy snickered and shook her head. Ronan turned to face Joy for just an instant and gave her a devilish wink. Joy covered her mouth with her hand and her shoulders shook.”

“Where is your spouse from? He looks so exotic.” the woman ventured, still more curious than smart.

“He is from Virginia, but I don't think he had any influence on what the baby looks like.” Ronan swatted her around verbally like a cat with a mouse. 

“Oh. OH. That's so cute. I love gay dads. It’s really great you got an Asian baby too, there are so many out there that need good homes.” She cooed.

“His family was in America longer than mine.” Ronan put it bluntly. It was true. Cian’s birth mother was Hawaiian, and so was her mom. Ronan’s dad had come to the states from Ireland in his early twenties. 

“Oh, is he Native American? He looks Phillipino or..... vietnamese? She squinted at Cian like he was a modern art painting she was trying to pretend she understood. “Did you two do a surrogate? Is he biologically related to you or your partner? If he is yours he is sure going to be tall!” She smiled, so clueless to the fate about to befall her. Ronan almost felt bad.

“Adoption. Hawaiian. What about your little nugget? He has red hair and you don't, is his dad a firecrotch? Did you guys do penis in the vagina sex? Was it doggie style? I hear that's best for conception. Hey, when he was born did you push him out or did they slice you open? Does his dad ever babysit him for you, or is he too incompetent to be left with a baby, you know how men are, am I right?" Ronan laughed. Joy was tearing up and turning purple trying not to bust up laughing.

“Hey man, that's a lot of personal questions.” She stuck her chin out and pursed her lips.

“NO SHIT?” Ronan almost shouted, and then he cackled.

“Fuck you man, I was just making small talk.” She pulled her kid out of the swing, her skin red from her neck to her scalp. “Dick.” She stalked off towards the parking lot.

“Hey! Hey! Wait!” Ronan called, “How much did your baby cost? Do they come in other colors?”

“Ronan, you motherfucker. “ Joy shook her head, letting tears of laughter drop down her cheeks, clutching her sides where they ached from laughing.

“Dada doesn't like nosy assholes, does he Cian? No he does not!” Ronan rubbed his nose into Cian’s soft cheek as he picked him up out of the swing. When he returned to his group’s picnic area, Chris, Steve, Leif, and Lori gave him many, many fistbumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, these questions are just some of the many that families with mixed race children and families that are not cis/het parents get asked by strangers. Having been asked if my kids are mine made me want to write this to sort of get rid of the "spirit of the stairs" from conversations like those.


	9. California Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Im a Californian and I love my home so of course I thought Adam and Ronan would like it too. Here they are enjoying some of the best bits my home has to offer. Title of the chapter comes from the song of the same name by Tupac and Dr. Dre.

It was an easy sell to get Ronan to quit drinking. Early on in the relationship Adam made it abundantly clear that Ronan could drink if he chose but that Adam would excuse himself from his company if he planned to drink. Adam didn't do this to control Ronan, but Ronan wanted Adam’s company more than he liked alcohol, so it was not given a second thought. Half the times Ronan had been drunk before they were together were because he had wanted Adam’s company and couldn't have it. So, without a glance back, Ronan gave up alcohol altogether. Adam himself had no interest in it at all, being raised by an alcoholic has that effect on some people. 

Years later, it was a much harder sell to get Ronan to move to California. He was resistant to the idea because he’s only ever seen the stereotypical Californian portrayed in movies and television. He had this vision of a sprawling concrete jungle of palm trees and lots of very good looking and totally vapid people who did juice cleanses and went surfing. He imagined seas of tanned blondes and wannabe actors. He was half right. However, Adam was interested in Northern California, which was a much different beast. They visited before buying, spending a week in the Bay Area and just north of it. Adam went to interviews and then the two of them visited San Francisco and marveled at the rainbow streets and the very visibly queer landscape. They went to Berkeley and knew instantly that Blue would love it. They checked out Kensington, which had Gansey written all over it. What sealed the deal was renting a vintage Lotus from a specialty rental company and tearing ass all over the Pacific Coast Highway. Adam watched Ronan go from dubious to enthusiastic as he manuevered the low and menacing car through magnificent curves and hairpins, going from the Golden Gate bridge and the skyscrapers to the Marin Headlands, to the winding roads to Stinson, Nicassio, Pt. Reyes, Bodega, Jenner and all the way up to Fort Bragg. Adam never ever got carsick, but this particular drive had almost done it. Ronan was on cloud 9 when they checked into a hotel in Fort Bragg. That evening his food tasted better, the smell of the pacific ocean intoxicated him, and his senses were on overload when Adam touched him. The next day when they scouted properties in Sebastopol and Ronan inhaled the oak and redwood surrounding them, he was already envisioning himself and Adam and Opal making their home there. The final selling point, the one that sealed the deal: No Snow. No snow to shovel all winter long. Two months later they pulled into the driveway of their new home in Graton. Declan and his wife and their plans to have a Catholic amount of offspring took over the residency of The Barns, and that was that.

After they had been there six months, Ronan got headbutted by a nasty billygoat that they later sold. Ronan tried to play it cool but he was in a lot of pain from landing hard on the ground and being stepped on by the bastard goat. He took all the over the counter pain medication he was allowed and he was still surly with discomfort. For the first time in eight years he wished for a beer to help him relax and he sheepishly communicated this to Adam.

“I mean, you certainly may, I won't stop you. It might help but you'll also be dehydrated and it will make you need to piss and then you'll have to get up.” Adam shrugged. “I think I have a much better idea but I don't know know if you're open to it.”

“If I thought hitting me in the face with a hammer would feel good I’d beg you to do it. I just can't get comfortable with the constant spasming” Ronan grumbled.

“Well, Ronan, we live in California now.” Adam quirked his mouth.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Ronan ran an exasperated hand over his face.

“Ronan, not only is pot legal here, they bring it to your door. It's also extremely high quality.” Adam raised an eyebrow.

“Adam are you serious? You want me to get baked?!” Ronan laughed, then grumbled again as the laughing had made his back hurt again.

“I’ll get baked with you” Adam smiled sheepishly.

“You're kidding. Adam Parrish is going to cut loose? No way!” Ronan suppressed his laughter this time but his smile was wide. 

“I am. My coworker has chronic pain and she swears by it. Its legal so I have no objections, and its not booze so there's no triggering issues. I'm down if you are.” Adam pulled his phone from his pocket and opened a little green app. He sat with Ronan looking over his shoulder as they perused the site, finally settling on a canister of sour apple cannabis gummies, a vape pen, and a low THC content concentrate with some absurd and completely Californian name. Forty minutes later a charming blonde woman was at the front door with the goods, and after sliding a credit card through the square chip reader attached to her iPad, they had medical grade cannabis in their house.

“We live in the future.” Ronan marvelled. “I remember when you had to pay sixty dollars for some sandwich baggie of dubious shake in Virginia.”

“Well, I've also been advised that California weed is much more potent than what I had in college so, let's take it easy.” Adam was almost giddy, opening the sleek and appealing packaging and reading the instructions on the vape pen. Sooner than later they had loaded the concentrate and took their first puffs.

“Wow.” Ronan marvelled, “That is so much better than coughing up a lung on some ridiculous bong rip. The Californian’s don't fuck around.”

“They do not” Adam nodded, his accent slipping out and his eyes and jaw relaxing.

 

Half an hour later they were elbows deep in a bag of Funyuns and watching Adult Swim when Ronan heaved a deep sigh. 

“Holy shit Adam, I feel so much better.”

“Really? Awesome. See, I knew this would be a good idea.” Adam smiled a lazy smile and popped a handful of chocolate covered raisins into his mouth, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Come up here.” Ronan beckoned Adam to the couch.

“What for?” Adam teased. He knew what for.

“I can't kiss my husband on weed just for fun? Am I too stoned to consent? Are you?” Ronan waggled his eyebrows at Adam.

Adam stood and made the boy scout hand symbol. “I'm totally not too stoned to consent, scout’s honor.” He said, barely maintaining a straight face, which he lost completely when Ronan busted up laughing. Adam climbed on top of Ronan trying to be sexy but completely goofy and the both of them were still giggling too hard to kiss each other. It took several minutes before they could look at each other without laughing again. It was only when Adam got a stitch in his ribs from laughing that they finally choked down the last of their giggles enough to meet each other's lips. 

The kiss was interesting. It was more like a locking of lips in place, nearly zero movement of jaws or lips or tongues, just the two of them melting into one another, effortlessly circular breathing. Time seemed to have slowed or possibly stopped as Adam pressed himself into Ronan as if they were two lumps of clay. Then suddenly Ronan felt as though a giant had stomped his foot on the ground next to their couch, a deep rumbling vibration rolling through him like the shortest roller coaster ride ever. 

“Whoa, Adam, I am way too high, I feel like we're moving.”

“Ronan, we are moving. Look at the lamp.” Adam pointed to the dangling Edison bulb light fixture swaying pendulously from the ceiling.

Ronan’s eyes widened. “Christ’s tits, what the fuck Adam?” Ronan hissed.

“I think we just experienced our first earthquake.” Adam smiled

“Of course that would have to happen when Im stoned. Of course. For fucks sake.” Ronan smirked.

“Welcome to California” Adam snorted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEah, thats really what earthquakes feel like, and yes, the weed is totally legal here.


	10. The One Where Pynch Goes to Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam convinces Ronan to come to SF Pride with Opal and Cian

Adam strolled in through the back door and into the kitchen, his run complete. Ronan was making Sunday waffles and bacon and coffee. Opal was doing finger plays in Latin with Cian who had just turned two and wanted to know absolutely everything all the time. Adam took a long drink straight from the kitchen sink tap and stood wiping his face with a clean kitchen towel.

“Babe, go shower. Waffles are almost done,” Ronan said while pouring batter into the waffle iron.

“I will. Ronan, I think we should go to Pride this year.” Adam said before kissing Ronan on the ear and beating feet down the hall to the master suite.

“And monkeys might fly out of my butt!” Ronan shouted after him, shaking his head. They had discussed this before. Ronan hated other people way too much to participate in any sort of parade. He was not looking forward to telling Adam no again, or Adam getting pissy about it, or Opal joining in the whining either for or against, she alternated sides frequently.

Later, at the breakfast table, Camaro snarfing down her bowl of pig snacks, Cian in his booster seat eating with both bare hands, Opal ignoring anyone in favor of making a tiny house with toothpicks and cut up bits of waffle with a bacon roof, (it was structurally sound, actually) Ronan passed Adam the milk for his coffee and hoped Adam had forgotten the earlier mention of Pride. Adam had not.

“I know crowds aren't your thing, Ronan, but I really want to go and I really want to go with you and Opal and Cian. I think it would be really good to be amongst other people like us and for the kids to see other families like ours.”

“We already have Supergay Playgroup,” Ronan muttered around a mouthful of waffles and syrup.

“Yes, thank goodness for that,” Adam chugged coffee before moving forward with his argument, “But this is a huge acknowledgement of the normalcy of our family and our life and I want to participate in it.” 

“You can go, I’ll stay here and do goat chores,” Ronan shrugged, trying so hard not to make this an argument while still saying no.

“I want to go, “ Opal said without looking up from her waffle hut, “It seems fun.”

“See?” Adam raised an eyebrow.

“Daddy doesn't want to go?” Cian asked looking concerned. Then, he asked his favorite question, “Why?”

“Yeah, Daddy. Why?” Adam smirked.

“Because it's a clusterfu-dge of looky loos and disco music. We’ll be sunburned and pickpocketed, and all so we can stand on the sidelines and watch floats of bears and leather daddies for a few hours,” Ronan rolled his eyes and ate his bacon like he was mad at it. 

“Actually, Ronan, Pride is a protest.” Adam smirked, pulling his ultimate ace out of his sleeve. Ronan lived for civil disobedience.

“A protest with rainbows and feather boas?” Ronan scoffed.

“There are rainbows!?” Cian squealed. He was recently obsessed with rainbows since Adam had given him a large prism to play with last week. Cian clapped his hands so hard that bits of waffle and butter flew from his crashing palms. “I want to go see rainbows Papa!”

“Yeah Cian, I want to see the rainbows too, baby. We can get snacks and dress up and there’s music and dancing and it makes uptights republicans all sorts of upset, so we have to rub it in their faces!” Adam grinned, and Cian looked like he was ready for adventure even if he didnt know what republicans were. “But....” Adam made a ridiculously over the top pout, “Daddy doesn't want to go, so I guess we’ll never get to taunt those republicans. I guess we can dance and wear rainbows at home.” Adam topped off his pout with a heavy pitiful sigh of dismay.

“Boooooooooooooooooooooooooo,” Opal said, pointing at Ronan.

“Booooooooo!” Cian squealed, also pointing at Ronan, “Boo Daddy Boooooo!” Adam, Cian and Opal dissolved into giggles while Ronan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. 

“Fine, I’ll fuckin go, on one condition,” Ronan smirked.

“What's that, Pride Grinch?” Adam snorted.

“I get to dream you all t-shirts and you have to wear them. All three of you. You have to wear them all day long, and we get to leave if it's too crowded.” Ronan set his lips in a line but his eyes betrayed his face and gave away that he was actually mildly excited about Pride after all. Then he threw his remaining soggy bite of waffle, and it bounced off Adam’s forehead, which made Ronan burst into taunting laughter. Adam used his fork to trebuchet a hunk of his waffle that hit Ronan in the neck. Opal curled her arm around her waffle shack protectively and slowly scooted her plate out of the melee. Cian used both fists to squish and fling the rest of his waffles and bacon, throwing them into the air where Camaro gobbled up the bits, bacon and all.  
“Oh damn, Camaro, you ate bacon,” Ronan mock-gasped, “good thing it's turkey bacon.” Because how could a family with a house pig eat bacon?

They decided to travel to the city of San Francisco the night before Pride, getting a hotel near but not right on top of the festivities. They booked something in between the massive suite Ronan wanted and the miserly functional double room that Adam wanted, and ended up with a tame two room suite with a fold out couch. Opal was happy to cuddle Cian on the fold out as they watched PBS children’s television and ate room service breakfast. 

It came time to dress for the parade and head down. Ronan tossed shirts to each of his family members with the gleeful and dangerous smirk that Ronan was famous for. He scampered off the the bathroom to shave and put on his own clothes, leaving the other three to discover what mischief Ronan had signed them up for.

Adam’s shirt read, in very large black font over a snug fitting charcoal tee, “Ronan Lynch is My Baby Daddy” Adam was relieved it wasnt something vulgar or offensive. When he put it on, however, he discovered Ronan’s ruse. It fit like a coat of paint over Adam’s hard earned pecs, delts, biceps and triceps. It was also just short enough that it didn't go past the waistband of Adam’s jeans, and his freckled stomach peeked out at the hem. Ronan had dressed Adam to be ogled, and put his name on him in large bold lettering. 

“Jesus, Ronan,” Adam shook his head with a grin, pulling the soft as butter tee down over his taut stomach. “Opal what did you get?”

Opal stood, holding a dress by the shoulders at arm's length. Opal was not a fan of dresses, but the look on her face was not a scowl, but wonderment. The sundress was maxi length, hiding Opal’s “special” boots. The dress was rainbow, but not in stripes or polka dots or even tye-dye. It was just like literally wearing a rainbow. She shuffled into the bedroom and closed the door, leaving Adam and Cian to sit on the couch while she changed. She emerged looking every bit the young lady in her summary frock, which shifted and swirled with her movement. Adam had to admit, even after twelve years, Ronan still amazed him with his beautiful imagination. She blushed, something Opal almost never did. She sniffled a tiny sniffle and smiled the smile of the mona lisa as she floated into the room. She sat on the couch.

“Opal, you look really beautiful, sweetheart. Do you like it?” Adam asked, not sure if Opal was feeling overwhelmed or happy or what. She just nodded and smiled, touching the dress fabric reverently. Finally she whispered, “Kerah is amazing, isn't he?” And she and Adam exchanged a knowing smile.

Last, they unfolded Cian’s shirt. It was a long sleeved white tee with a rainbow cape attached to the shoulders at the back. The front bore the message, “Republican Bigots Can Suck It” Adam was so glad Cian couldn't read. 

“Papa it has a cape! I'm a super boy!” Cian shouted gleefully as Adam slid the shirt over his toddler body.

“Super Cian!” Adam said, flying Cian around the room, hoisted over his head. Ronan emerged at last and Adam, who thought he’d seen Ronan pull every stunt in the book by this time, was still stunned at his getup. Ronan wore his twelve eyelet Fluevog Derby Swirls, a snug black tank that read, “FUCK OFF” in gold glitter. However, the astounding part of the ensemble wasn't the vulgar shirt, but the choice in lower-body garment. Ronan was wearing a Utilikilt. The thick, heavy black fabric sat low on his hips, held up by a pyramid spiked belt. Adam took a long look at Ronan’s exposed calves, pale as paper and covered in thick black hair, strong and thick. He drew his eyes upward to the sparkly tank, then to Ronan’s face, where he was met with Ronan’s eyes, boring holes in Adam’s new shirt.

“Jesus, that shirt might be my best creation yet, “ Ronan muttered, running a hand from his forehead over his scalp and resting it on the back of his neck. “ I'm going to need you to wear that from now on. Forever.” 

“You’ll have to dream duplicates, this one will get manky” Adam grinned and strode to Ronan and wrapped his arms around his waist before murmuring in his ear, “This fucking kilt is killing me, Lynch. Are you... regimental?”

“Down boy. Of course not, someone could lose an eye. Now, we have a protest to attend.” Ronan said before stealing a kiss and giving Adam’s ass the quickest of squeezes.

 

They walked the streets of San Francisco, Cian strapped to Adam’s back in a ruck carry with their rainbow woven baby carrier, the most useful thing they’d acquired in the two years they had become fathers. Ronan had also managed to dream Cian a baseball cap that bore an emboridered rainbow A in a circle, the symbol for anarchists. Children were nothing if not anarchists, which is probably why Ronan made such a good father, he understood them. 

They found an area where lots of other young families were gathered, sort of a Pride version of Supergay Playgroup. They were in near city hall, bedecked with rainbows. They watched PFLAG, Bears, Leather groups, Trans and Non-Binary floats, saw dozens of totally shaved men in tiny glitter shorts dancing to house music. Plastic beads were everywhere, there were a few naked people, not as many as they had anticipated. Drag queens, gay furries, and finally a float consisting of people who had been pioneers of the LGBTQIA scene since it had first begun to snowball decades before. They’d survived discrimination, gay panic defense, AIDS when it was still called GRID, both Bush administrations, and Don't Ask Don't Tell.

Ronan and Adam had been cheering and dancing with Cian and Opal but when the last float passed, they stood in reverent silence. They looked at each other, both thinking how relatively easy it had been for them to live their lives, to buy a home, get married, adopt a child, hold hands in public, in large part because of these strangers passing before them. They’d experienced the odd rude glance, the occasional rude comment, and of course the meaningless disapproval of Adam’s parents. The people they waved to on the float had paved the way for everyone else here to be who they are and love who they love. Adam was fighting off a tear that threatened to breach the waterline and he redirected his emotion to clapping his hands and cheering. It broke the spell and Ronan cheered too, Opal and Cian cheering too, despite not knowing fully why they were being louder and more enthusiastic that they had for all the other floats.

The parade over, the crowd dispersed to the rest of the event. Vendors, dancing, performers, food and drinks were everywhere. They toured the area and took it all in, but eventually Ronan had had enough of people brushing against him or bumping into him, and Cian was in need of a nap. They left the festival area and walked back towards their hotel, looking for a quiet and uncrowded lunch spot on their way.

They finally found a simple cafe off the path of the festival and ducked inside, grateful for a break from the din of the crowd, the close proximity to strangers, and the leathery old naked men in loud sunhats and tennis shoes and nothing else. Ronan took Cian from the ruck carry on Adam’s back and held him on his lap as he sat in the booth. The long day in the sun, the heaviness of the final float, the intensity of the day got to them. They spoke softly to each other as they nibbled lunch.

“Who were those old people on the last float?” Opal asked as the poked around her plate with her fork. Cian had finished his macaroni and cheese and had snuggled into Ronan’s chest and dozed off.

“Soldiers. Heroes. Survivors.” Ronan said quietly.

“Opal, not that long ago, it was dangerous for people who weren't heterosexual. People were murdered, beaten, their houses and business destroyed, employment denied, kicked out of colleges and the military, all of that. The people on that float were the ones who rioted and took to the street to change all that so that people like me and Kerah, and all the folks in the Supergay Playgroup could have the right to, well, exist.”

“Humans do some dumb shit. Who the fuck goes around telling other people who they are allowed to love? So stupid.” Opal said, shaking her head.

“Unfortunately there are still a lot of people in America and all over the world where people still think that it's their business, and that they should be allowed to be bigoted assholes and treat us like shit,” Ronan scowled, “But those people are slowly dying out and public policy is shifting. Not fast enough, but it's happening. So that's why the Pride protest is still necessary and important. We will keep coming every year until we don't need to protest anymore.”

Adam sat stunned, listening to Ronan commit to returning to Pride every year. It wasn't as though it was the most fun day ever, and while they had met some nice people, they certainly haven't felt as though their community was here, they had a community back in their tiny town. Ronan clearly had had a moment at some point in the day that had shifted his feeling about the event.

“Every year, huh?” Adam asked with a sly smile.

“ Yup. We gotta pay those who came before us their due and remember them when they're gone. Who knows who Opal or Cian will love when they get older. We have to make sure whatever they chose is safe for them. We have to keep pushing back for our place in this earth. We can't be complacent because were privileged cis white guys with a bunch of money. The fight isn't over.” Ronan said resolutely.

“Holy shit, did Ronan Lynch just take up a cause?” Adam asked incredulously.

“Shut up. I just want better for these two and the kids in the playgroup,” Ronan said, suddenly subdued and pushing the last bits of his Cobb salad around. 

“Fuckin hell I love you.” Adam sighed, pushing himself across the table to take Ronan’s face in his hands and plants a ferocious kiss on his mouth.


	11. I am The Ronan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whats it like to be Ronan Lynch these days?

Most days began at the asscrack of dawn, goats were impatient. Ronan stealthily slid out from under the softly snoring Adam and shuffled into rugged carpenters pants and long sleeved Henley, bundling up for the chilly sixty degree California morning. Ronan still loathed shirt sleeves but loathed goat funkiness on his bare arms even more. He brushed his teeth like they owed him money, and then set the softest of kisses on Adam’s forehead before tiptoeing out the bedroom door. 

Down the hall he continued like a ninja, not wanting to wake Cian or Opal, or Camaro, or Chainsaw. He had perfected the art of preparing a pot of coffee in the french press with careful quietness. If Cian woke, he’d wake everyone. If Adam woke, he’d want to fool around. If Opal woke she would want to go help in the barn. If Camaro woke, she would want snacks. If Chainsaw woke, she would wake Cian. Mornings were the only time of day where Ronan was totally undisturbIed with his thoughts and the quiet was something he needed. 

Coffee brewing he slipped headphones on and queued up a playlist of dark crunchy ambient to go with the overcast dawn sky and set out for the barns. Inside he checked on the pregnant Nubian, Anvil. She looked to be ready to kid in the next few days, and Ronan chucked her extra food and a celery heart that had gone wilty in his fridge. He let the babies out into their safe little pen so he could hook their mothers up to the milking apparatus. He mucked some goat shit into the composter. He fed the chickens and gathered eggs. He thought as he worked. Thought about the next cheese orders he needed to fulfill, how he needed to call Hector to come mend the back fence, how he needed to take Opal shopping for new clothes, not that she had grown but because her last batch of new clothes was tattered as her clothes often got. Most days she looked like she had crawled across a briar patch and through a mud puddle. Clothes never lasted long. He needed to discuss with Adam whether he should take Cian for his first haircut or continue to let it grow. 

Later today he had plans to skype with Nathalie, now in sophmore year at HSU studying biology. He wondered if she would want to say hi to Cian. Sometimes she did, others she did not. She had flourished at HSU and was so much brighter and shinier than she had been when she had stayed with them. He continued to fund her education and send care packages frequently, but had finally stopped feeling the need to thank her every time they spoke, and it was at that juncture she finally became comfortable talking to him regularly. He still thanked her in his mind several times a day.

Opal emerged in overalls and a t-shirt with a unicorn on the front. Several times she’d begged Ronan to dream her a unicorn but Adam always managed to talk them out of it, seeing as some neighbor would surely see it and freak out, and then they would have more than just a random unicorn to explain to the world. So instead he gave her an alpine kid named Unicorn and dreamt a snugly fitting unicorn horn to strap to it’s head. Unfortunately, Unicorn was an asshole, and hated Ronan. 

That moment, Unicorn shoved at Ronan to get to Opal, though the stupid goat could just have gone around him. Opal snorted and crouched to hug her goat and speak to him in Latin. Ronan took the opportunity to fetch the milk from the dairy that was prepared for the babies. He and Opal went into the kid pen where very young kids scampered and slept on bales of hay and tree stumps and old tractor tires. They fetched the device they called the “baby goat beer bong” and set it in the center of the pen. It was a cylinder of PVC with holes drilled all around the side in a circle with rubber teats affixed to the holes. Ronan heaved the giant jug of milk and poured it into the top of the contraption as Opal guided the frantically hungry kids to each find their own rubber nipple. In minutes, the babies had drained the milk and were again off an flailing around the pen, hedbutting eachother, trying and failing to jump on the tree. They were hilarious to watch and even funnier when Opal bent to pick up one and another jumped on her back. She remained crouched awkwardly as the kid nibbled her hair. 

“Little help, Kerah?” She sardonically muttered as Ronan snickered under his breath. He scooped up the naughty little La Mancha and set him down. Opal stood and followed Ronan back to the barn to unhook the milk machines with Ronan. Done in half the time with two sets of hands he draped an arm over her narrow shoulders and they silently walked back to the house and in through the back door leading to the kitchen.

“Kerah!” Croaked Chainsaw in a scolding tone, not happy about having been left inside. Ronan reached into a ceramic canister on the kitchen counter and fed the bossy bird a palmful of freeze dried beef liver and stroked her feathers until she no longer looked put out, then let her outside, flinging her into the air where she took off to patrol her fiefdom for the day.

He washed hands and took the long sleeve off, covered in goat snot, milk and “et cetera” and chucked it into the constantly full laundry basket in the alcove off of the back porch where the laundry machines lived. Back in the kitchen he prepared two coffees and a peppermint tea and set them out before scrounging through the fridge for breakfast.

Four days out of seven he ended up making an entire dozen scrambled eggs, enough for a protein fiend, a messy toddler, a hooved child, a large Irishman and one spoiled pig. The benefit of dream chickens was that there was always a dozen eggs or more in the fridge every single day. He did the same today. He sliced the rustic loaf of sourdough Adam had baked the day before. Ronan had not at all discreetly stared over the top of his book at Adam’s strong bare arms as he had kneaded the dough over and over. He shook filthy thoughts from his mind as he sliced the bread thick and buttered it generously with goat ghee and grilled it on the antique and still functioning Wedgewood stove that had come with the house when they bought it. 

Eggs and bread done, he sliced a mango so ripe it was nearly mush and put it in a plastic bowl with sugar skulls printed on it. He made Adam’s gross protein powder and spirulina goat milk smoothie, and then set the table.

Just in time, Cian burst down the hall and into the kitchen naked, squealing as Adam in just pajama pants and peak level bedhead chased after him with a cloth diaper in one hand and tiny toddler pants in the other. Ronan bent and snagged the naked baby in his arms before he could run out the back door, which was definitely his objective. Cian was going through a nudist phase and Ronan and Adam were constantly finding tiny clothes shed like snake skin all over their property and home. As a team, Adam and Ronan wrangled the boy into his diaper and pants. He had objected strongly and had begun squirming until Ronan distracted him with chunks of mango.

“Cian, you have to let Papa put your pants on,” Ronan chided without menace.

“Daddy I don wanna wear pants, I wanna be freeeeeeeeeee!!” Cian squealed, squishing mango in his fist, dripping it all over Ronan’s neck and chest.

“Cian, you can have nakeybutt time after bath, just like every night, but you can't run around outside naked right now. It's time for eggs, baby.” Adam said as he finished stuffing chubby brown thighs into zebra striped cotton sweatpants. Ronan kissed Cian’s messy cheek before plopping him into the booster chair in front of his plate of eggs and buttered bread and mango.

“Mornin sugar,” Adam taunted Ronan, all drawl, as he yanked him by the waist to kiss him.

“I made your gross smoothie, and I spit in your coffee,” Ronan said before kissing back and pulling free to prepare plates for the two of them and hand Adam his two drinks.

“Just how I like it, extra spiteful,” Adam grinned before chugging half the coffee in one drink. He took his plate and sat, Opal and Ronan following, Opal’s plate stacked with acorn caps next to her eggs. Ideas about not setting an example for Cian to eat random farm ground scores had been abandoned long ago. Now they let him try things like acorn caps and he would bite them and spit them out, never to be tried again. It worked so much better than telling him not to eat them. 

“Babe, Cian keeps getting called she at the park. Do you think we ought to take him for a haircut?” Ronan asked around a mouthful of bread. Indeed Cian had grown silky black hair to his shoulders.

“I like it. I don't care if he gets called a girl, I don't think he does either. Cian do you want a hair cut, baby?” He asked his son.

“No Papa I wanna be a pony” Cian said, not looking up from where he was dropping the crusts of his bread to the floor for Camaro.

“There you have it. No haircut.” Adam shrugged. 

“If only all parenting decisions were this simple,” Ronan chuckled. “Speaking of parenting decisions, this naked thing...” 

“Yeah, he tried to strip at the park the other day, and at music class.” Adam shook his head and tried not to laugh so that Cian wouldn't be encouraged to continue his exhibitionism.

“Maybe we need to let him have more naked time at home?” Ronan raised one eyebrow and gave Cian a side-eye.

“I mean, if you're cool with wiping up kid wiz all day... or worse” Adam smirked.

“Gross” muttered Opal, crunching on the acorn caps as she read from her copy of The Golden Compass.

“I was actually thinking he is ready for potty training, Joy said they let the twins run around naked for a week and by the end of it the kids were on the pot.” Ronan said before shoveling the last of his eggs into his mouth.

“It's a three day weekend coming up. Do we have a potty or should I pick one up?” Adam asked.

“I’ll dream a dozen, we will put them in every room and outside. He is going to be so much better at this than all the other babies.” Ronan said smugly.

“Its not a fuckin contest, Ronan,” Adam rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah it is, and we’re winning.” Ronan said as he stood to clear the table. Adam stood too and went to stand behind Cian’s chair as the child continued to eat. Ronan watched with a warm fuzzy feeling as he watched Adam’s beautiful hands work into Cian’s hair as he deftly parted the child’s hair down the middle before braiding tight french braids on both sides, securing them with fuzzy rubberbands he kept in his pajama pants pockets. Cian’s face, now framed with the baby hairs on his brow and his chubby cheeks smeared in mango glanced up to meet Ronan’s stare.

“Dadda,” Cian said excitedly, “Guess what!”

“What is it baby?” Ronan said, reaching for the ever present wash cloth they used to clean Cian up after meals and running it under the warm tap.

“I tooted” Cian giggled. 

“Gross!” Again, from Opal.

“Congratulations,” Ronan smirked as he began wiping off the mango from Cian’s nut brown cheeks and chubby toddler fingers. 

 

Adam showered and dressed for work, Ronan packed him lunch. Cian and Camaro played in the living room, Opal ignored everyone in favor of her book. Soon Adam was headed out the door and Ronan began his day of full-time daddy work. He chucked short ribs in the crockpot, started a load of laundry, wriggled Cian into a shirt and shoes before taking him outside to the very rustic playground Adam and he had made for Cian. It consisted of a wooden swing hanging from a tree branch, a sand pit, a teepee structure of branches, some stumps and a plank of sanded wood. Cian busied himself making a seesaw with the plank and the logs before getting distracted and digging in the sand with the small shovel he had. Ronan made his phone calls to his buyers and his handyperson. He texted with Matthew and Gansey, kept his Skype appointment with Nathalie. She only had a few minutes between classes but she did ask to say hi to Cian, who called her Natty, she called him Keezers. 

When Cian started to get emo about everything, it was time for Ronan to put him down for nap, which almost always led to Ronan having a nap as well, as it did today. He woke before the baby and checked emails, sent Adam a GIF of a woman getting several hot dogs thrown at her face, folded the wash and put it away. He ate lunch. He had just sat with a sketchbook and pencil when he heard the unmistakable sounds of Cian trying to sneak out of his crib and room. He quietly hid and waited for the baby to toddle down the hall where Ronan snatched him up off his feet suddenly. Ronan was laughing but Cian had been startled and howled. Ronan was still laughing as he apologized and soothed Cian, bringing him into the kitchen to give him a handful of cheddar bunnies before making him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

Cian held no grudges and was over it as soon as he saw Chainsaw, who had flown in and was on her perch in the kitchen making weird knocking noises as she frequently did. 

Ronan mused as he filled a sippy cup with goat milk what his life was like. If anyone had told him in high school that he would be blissfully domestic, married to Adam Parrish, washing socks and scheduling playdates, he would have laughed until he pissed himself. Not because that wasn't what he wanted then, he had always known that he wanted a family, wanted a life that afforded him the luxury of being a better, more present father than his own. He just never thought he’d have it. Adam knew what he wanted and worked his ass off and got all of it. Ronan knew what he wanted and resigned himself to living without it before he could get attached to the idea.

He thought back on the day he had proposed to Adam. He had carried a ring in his pocket at all times for two years and had nearly asked a thousand times over before he actually did. That day they were running around the barns the summer before Adam’s last year in school, chasing each other with water bazookas that Ronan had dreamt to never need refilling. Declan and Matthew and Declan’s wife Siobhan were there, as were Gansey, Blue and Opal. They had all been chasing each other around in bathing suits for the better part of an hour when Ronan stepped back to observe the way Adam ran pell mell, reckless and joyful, screaming and shouting with the others. He knew at that moment that not only did he want to continue to give Adam experiences like this one until he was dead in the dirt at a hundred years old, but that he was going to get it. He was. He knew Adam would say yes. So with his family conveniently present, he jumped from behind a tractor to blast Adam in the chest with a jet of water, quickly using the surprise to grab Adam and drag him by the hand to the middle of the yard in view of everyone else present. 

“HEY YOU FUCKERS!” Ronan had shouted, sticking his fingers under his tongue to produce a sharp short whistle. “GET OVER HERE! PARRISH NEEDS TO TELL YOU SOMETHING!”

“I do?” Adam asked quizzically, his face beginning to turn red already, he had been planning to ask Ronan to marry him and wondered if Ronan were about to demand he do so right now, because that's the sort of thing Ronan would have done.

The others, dripping wet and confused gathered. Ronan stood behind Adam, draping his arms over Adam’s shoulders and crossing them over his chest. 

“Is this a ploy to lure us to our soggy doom?” Blue asked accusatory.

“Adam?” Gansey asked with trepidation and optimism at the same time.

“Tell them, Parrish” Ronan nudged him.

“Tell them what, asshole?” Adam said, managing to almost hide a nervous quaver in his flippant answer. 

Ronan fished in his pocket and produced a silver band of vines in his palm and held his hand in front of Adam. “Tell them we’re getting married.” 

“Oh fuckin hell Ronan!” Adam shouted, snatching the ring from his palm as he spun around in Ronan’s grasp to throw his arms around his neck. “You fucking asshole!”

“Don't keep the people waiting. Sargeant looks like she is going to combust. Tell the nice folks.” Ronan grinned a mile wide as he slid the band onto Adam’s left ring finger. Adam spun around to face everyone else.

“THIS ASSHOLE JUST ASKED ME TO MARRY HIM!” Adam shouted. Gansey looked like he might faint or barf or both. Declan and Matthew exchanged hi-fives, Blue’ scowl melted into a smile. “AND I SAID SURE WHATEVER FINE!” Adam finished, cracking himself up before turning to press cold wet chest to cold wet chest and squeeze the breath from Ronan’s lungs while kissing him all over his face, frenzied. 

Ronan had thought at the time that it was the best day of his life. Since then, five years had gone by and he had had thousands more just as important, joyful, and amazing. 

He was drawn back to present day when Cian clobbered him in the shins with a ride-on dump truck he had crashed into his father’s legs. Adam’s silent car crunched gravel in the driveway as he pulled in. Goats bleated their delayed alarm sound to alert everyone that Adam was home. 

“Come on baby, let's go get Papa,” Ronan said, scooping the baby up and onto his shoulders, heading towards the driveway.

And thus another day in the life of The Ronan wound down from warm afternoon to cool evening, dinner enjoyed, kids read to, Adam wrapped around him as they drifted off to sleep to do it all again tomorrow.


	12. Ronan Lynch has Some Interesting Kinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all kinks are entirely sexual all the time...

Ronan Lynch had some unorthodox and unexpected kinks. They weren't even necessarily sexual in nature. Sure, they could lead to...things, but then again, doing the dishes with Ronan Lynch could lead to things. They were not unusual in the way that, say, needing to hug a pineapple during sex would be unusual, they were pretty tame kinks, as far as kinks go. When pressed, Ronan couldn't ever fully explain, even to himself what it was about his kinks that made them kinks, he just knew that those certain things never went unnoticed by him, and made him completely aware of his senses and skin all at once when they occurred. 

The discovery of the first one was purely by accident. Two months after Gansey had died for the second time, when Ronan and Adam were just starting out on their journey together, they had one of their strangest fights ever. Ronan had come to a point where he could no longer turn a blind eye to Adam’s malnourishment. He reached a limit of tolerance when it came to Adam’s prideful ways and finally snapped under the strain of watching the boy he loved run full bore on an empty tank day after day, constantly tired, constantly hungry. Ronan turned a blind eye to all other miserly methods, the super short cold showers, the threadbare clothes, the empty boxes used as furniture, the lack of phone. He knew not to push on these items. When it came to eating, though, he couldn't stand watching Adam suffer, and once they regularly began seeing each other naked, Ronan became aware of how little Adam was actually eating. His pants were too short at the ankle, Adam was still not done growing, and yet barely taking in calories, certainly working off more than he was consuming. Ronan couldn't watch anymore. In a rare show of maturity, however, he came up with a very solid argument and proposal, and delivered them without showing the intense emotions that fueled them. He knew if he came out guns blazing, Adam would stop listening before he even started, and this was too important to fuck up. After Ronan had delivered a fantastic hand massage paired with pizza he’d brought over, he delicately broached the subject.

“So, babe, we’re partners, right?” He said, sitting behind Adam on the bed, legs wrapped around Adam, his fingers in Adam’s hair, willing him to relax.

“Yes. What do you want Ronan?” Adam was already onto him.

“So what does that entail? What do partners do for each other?” Ronan asked tentatively.

“Well, I've got your back. You've got mine. Anything I can do for you I will. I care about you, you care about me, etc.?” Adam said, leaning back into Ronan’s chest.

 

“So if I got sick, you’d hold my hair while I barf, stuff like that?” Ronan asked.

“Yeah, I’ll do that Lynch, “ Adam rolled his eyes. “But yeah, I would take care of you if you were ill or injured.”

“What about little things like, making sure I floss and get my flu shot and stuff like that? Making me sleep once in awhile... not letting me drink bleach and stuff?” Ronan continues jovially, still mindfully giving Adam soothing touches as he prepared to drop the bomb into the conversation.

“I mean, I would if I thought you’d listen, but I know you won't.” Adam scoffed.

“Hello Pot, I'm kettle” Ronan snickered.

“But yeah, I will.” Adam sighed.

“So,” here came the big drop. Ronan took a deep breath, “I want to take care of you too, make sure you don't get sick, things like that. In order to do that, I'm going to need you to eat better.” 

Adam immediately tensed and tried to sit up but Ronan pushed him back down towards his chest. “Ronan-” he began, already defensive and annoyed.

“Hear me out. I know if I were sick, you’d use your last dime to put gas in the shitbox and bring me medicine. You would.” Ronan began, “ So what I'm saying is that, every day that I see you pretend you're not hungry when I know you are, every time you drink water and go to sleep early because there's nothing for dinner at the end of the month, Adam...” Ronan choked up a bit and had to swallow back the urge to cry, “ It breaks my fucking heart. I cant watch it, especially when it's such an easy problem to fix. Literally, no skin off my back whatsoever, in fact it would be my absolute pleasure to see you well fed. Nothing would make me happier than to take care of you like that. I want you to let me do it.” Ronan sighed a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

“Ronan, it's not that bad,” Adam began, for once calm instead of angry when the subject of money was broached. 

“Adam, how tall are you?” Ronan asked.

“Six feet or so?” Adam shrugged.

“ And how much do you weigh?” Ronan asked.

“Dunno. Your bathroom scale said 130, but I don't know how accurate dream scales are,” Adam shrugged again.

“So, Adam, that's....not a lot. I'm six two and I weigh fifty five pounds more than you.” Ronan said, still stroking Adam’s hair, surprised this conversation hasn't exploded yet.

“It is what it is, Lynch, “ Adam grumbled.

“What do I need to do to convince you to allow me to feed you better?” Ronan asked point blank.

“God, Ronan, this is so uncomfortable.” Adam grimaced.

“ I know, I'm sorry. I just feel like I'm going to cry every time I see you eat a bread and ketchup sandwich. You deserve so much more, and you need so much more. Please Adam?” And then Ronan was in tears, trying to stealthily swipe them off his cheeks and subtly sniffle before Adam could notice. 

“Okay.” Adam whispered. “But don't go overboard, please. Don't let me see how much things cost, ok? And please don't make me go to the store with you, it will stress me out. Also you can't take me out to eat all the time, that is too much.”

“Really? I can put things in your cupboards and fridge when you're not home. I’ll cook for you here or at the Barns as often as you'll allow it.”

“Okay Ronan. Okay...” Adam seemed to be sniffling suspiciously also, “Ronan,.... Thank you. I'm still getting used to the idea that anyone cares about me and it's an adjustment.” Ronan just squeezed him tighter in response.

The following day, Adam came home to cupboards filled with bread, peanut butter, crackers, boxes of soup, cans of tuna fish, oatmeal, chips, granola bars, and popcorn, which was Adam’s favorite. The tiny dorm fridge held very little but there was milk, butter, eggs, jam, tofu, and cheese. On the table next to a bunch of bananas and a bag of apples was a rotisserie chicken in a plastic box, still warm. Adam, alone in his apartment, tore into it with his fingers and ate nearly half of it before he couldn't eat another bite. 

Ronan couldn't believe his luck and took every opportunity to feed Adam. He learned cooking from YouTube, and delivered warm from the oven lunches to Adam at Aglionby a few times a week, and made him dinner just as often. He was on the phone with Adam, who, with a little more cash on hand now that he didn't have a grocery bill, had actually bought a phone, and he heard Adam munching over the phone.

The crunching sounds of Adam eating dill pickles from the jar, or popcorn, anything really made the back of Ronan’s scalp tingle, and he shuddered. It wasn't erotic per se, but it was arousing in a nonsexual way. He really really liked to hear Adam chewing, and secretly tried calling when he knew Adam would be eating, but he needn't plan. Now that he could, if Adam was home, Adam was eating. If Adam was at the Barns, he was eating. Then Ronan got to watch as well as listen. He tried not to stare as Adam licked melted chocolate off of his thumb, or how his eyelashes fluttered when he ate ice cream. He tried to act cool when he saw Adam stuff a massive bite of shepherds pie in his mouth and how his eyes rolled in bliss when he tasted it. Watching and listening to Adam eat made Ronan feel like he could conquer the world, and it didn't hurt at all that Adam’s hands and mouth were involved.

All the years Adam was away in school, Ronan sent care packages, and again called hoping to hear Adam crunch things over the phone. Adam noticed how Ronan would stop talking when Adam was chewing loudly, and asked him about it.

“Lynch, are you listening to me chew?” Adam asked out of the blue one day.

“Um. Yes. It's kind of hot.” Ronan muttered.

“You're incorrigible” Adam laughed.

“No, but, it is. Its, I can't explain. It makes me all tingly when you eat crunchy things.”

“Weirdo” Adam scoffed.

“No, ok, wait. Here. I’ll do it. Now listen.” And Ronan grabbed an apple on his end of the phone and took a large bite, chewing with his mouth not entirely closed. He took more bites until finally, Adam spoke.

“Hey, that's kinda neat. My hair is all standy-uppy in the back” Adam said, touching his hair where it tingled.

“See. Toldja.”

“You're still weird.”

“Shut up and eat your popcorn.”

 

So that was Ronan’s first kink. It didn't work with anyone else. Before Adam went off to school, Ronan managed to put fifteen pounds on him. After twelve years together, Adam weighed almost as much as Ronan.

Which brought Ronan to his second kink.

It started with one of their frequent rough and tumble wrestling matches. They were on the floor of the living room in their home in Graton, baked on medical grade cannabis and getting ridiculous. Ronan had snatched a poptart out of Adam’s hand and shoved the whole thing in his mouth at once. Adam, who had become quite attached to his uncooked organic poptart launched himself at Ronan and tackled him to the floor. He managed to pin his shoulders to the floor ad poke him in the ribs as Ronan swatted at his hands. Then, Adam simply sat on Ronan, plopped the full weight of his butt right on Ronan’s sternum, pushing the breath out of him. Ronan’s face slowly turned red as it was challenging to take a full breath, and Adam started to move, but Ronan held him there. Adam tried shifting his weight so it wouldn't be so direct on Ronan’s chest, but Ronan shook his head and held tighter. Adam took in the scene, watched Ronan’s gaze simmer, and saw him slowly turn redder and redder until he patted rapidly at Adam’s thigh and Adam sprung off of him, hearing Ronan gasp for air. 

“What the fuck, Ronan?” Adam said as he plopped down on the floor next to Ronan’s prone body.

“That was hot, Adam, do it again.” 

“What?” 

“Squish me. Squish me with your body weight.” Ronan said, pawing at Adam’s waist and trying to drag him back on to his chest.

“Wait, I will, but tell me why.” Adam said, getting to all fours alongside Ronan.

“I don't know, its just hot. It's fun when I can breathe still but almost cant. I don't know how to explain it, I just really want you to do that again.”

“So like this?” Adam asked as he crawled over Ronan and straddled him high on his chest. 

“Don't try not to hurt me, just squish me like I took your lunch money. Put all your weight on me.”

“Okay....” Adam said, shifting. He parked his butt right on Ronan’s chest as he had before and as Ronan’s face again turned red, he ran his fingers lightly over Ronan’s face, watching with curious interest his simmering eyes and labored, shallow breaths until Ronan tapped out once more.

“Bedroom” Ronan said as soon as he could breathe. Adam yanked him up to his feet and chased him down the hall.

Later, Ronan again tried to explain the appeal. It was similar to racing, fighting, getting tattooed the way the smothering brought him to focus on his senses and be truly in his body. Ultimately, Adam didn't need to fully understand the appeal in order to accommodate it, but that doesn't mean he wasn't going to look into it until he did understand.

Ronan found on days he was stressed or grouchy, getting squished was a very effective method of decompression. It didn't always lead to sex, sometimes the squishing wasn't erotic, just therapeutic. Adam was always happy to help.


	13. Adam Has Some Kinks Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pretty tame as far as kinks go...

When you're alone in college and your boyfriend sends you a calendar of cheesecake photos of him being sexy and shirtless with kittens and whatnot, and you spend a lot of time being lonely and horny and trapped in a dorm room with said photos, they leave a long lasting impression on a person’s sexual preferences.

So of course Mr. July had created a monster. Adam Parrish fetishized the shit out of Ronan in farming gear. Even a decade later, he had to tell himself “down boy!” when Ronan came in from the goat chores sweaty and stripping off his shirt in the laundry room. It got to the point where he had dirty thoughts any time he passed a tractor on the side of the country roads he drove to and from work each day. Overalls were another trigger. Ronan didn't even wear them, but Adam imagined him in them all the time, shirtless of course. He tried convincing Ronan to get a pair but Ronan said that was too gay even for him.

It wasn't just the visuals that did him in, it was the smells. It seemed like the sweatier Ronan was, the more it drove Adam completely crazy. When his skin was dusted with the bits of alfalfa that had fallen on him as he fed the goats, that elevated the situation. 

One sweltering Sunday in July, Adam sat in the porch swing out back focused on carving a spoon from a nice hunk of walnut. Opal was who knows where, Cian napping in the house, Ronan doing chores and making kefir. He had been completely absorbed in his work when he heard the shrill “Meeehhhh!” of one of the kids and looked up. From where he sat he saw Ronan in the kid pen sitting on a stump in his Carhartt pants and his standard black tank. He held a tiny nubian kid tightly to his chest with one arm and cursed and swore as the kid flailed and jerked. Ronan was trying to get it to take a bottle, the runt had been shoved away from the baby goat beer bong by the others and wasn't getting enough milk. Ronan had started having to go feed the scrawny thing on his own many times a day, and the poor thing was very indignant about it.

At first, Adam was laughing under his breath to himself watching Ronan get frustrated with the tiny idiot. When he finally got the kid to take the nipple, he stood and held the goat as he swayed his hips and encouraged the little goat to “not take any shit from those other fuckers,” in a soft soothing voice. When the goat had finished, Ronan gave it a scritch and stroked it’s long fuzzy ears before setting it down to run and play. Ronan was unaware he was being watched from the porch by Adam, and pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe sweat and likely goat hair off of his face, exposing the stark white of his belly and the sparse black hair on his chest. Adam, hidden under the awning, licked his lips and swallowed. 

Ronan turned to grab the garden hose and fill the water trough. Adam watched him bend down to turn on the spigot and again to wedge the spout of the hose through the fencing to keep it directed at the trough. As it filled, he fetched a pair of hedge trimmers and Adam watched as he used his strong arms to clip the ceanothus down where it was growing too close to the driveway. He turned and Adam was able to see him from behind, his shoulders glowing with sweat as the muscles under his skin moved in waves. 

Ronan slung the trimmers over his shoulder, very much like he had in the farmer calendar photos and Adam felt his mouth water. Ronan stashed the tools in their rack before returning to the garden hose and the trough. Ronan released the trigger lock to make the water stop and began rolling the hose up from his elbow to his fist as he walked back to the hose mount on the side of the barn. However when he reached the hose mount, he hung the hose up but kept the nozzle and a few feet of hose. Adam held his breath hoping what he wanted to happen was about to happen, and it did. Ronan used the hose to spray himself cool in the 88-degree heat. Pointing the shower setting right over his head, eyes scrunched shut, slack-jawed, he let the hose soak him, shirt, pants and all. 

Adam was certainly going to die at this point. Just when he thought he would take his last breath before keeling over, dead of terminal arousal, it got even worse. Ronan shut off the water, then peeled, specifically peeled his shirt off, wrung it out, and wiped his face with it before tossing it over his shoulder and heading off to whatever chore he had next. Adam Parrish rose from the dead like Lazarus and in single minded zombie fashion set his spoon and carving knife down and stalked towards Ronan. Ronan was walking away from Adam and did not register the sounds of footfalls approaching when Adam’s other kink came in to play very suddenly.

The other kink being that he loved to pick Ronan up and throw him around. Tossing him over his shoulder on their wedding day was sort of supposed to be a one time thing. But once Adam knew he could do it, he found himself looking for opportunities to do it again and again. He experimented with lots of different carry techniques as well. He favored the Fireman carry, but also enjoyed piggy back rides. He had done a bridal carry once and it was so absurd he dropped Ronan because he was laughing too hard. It didn't help that Ronan was doing an imitation of some sort of Scarlett O’Hara type person as Adam had tried to carry him down the hall. His absolute favorite, though, had to be when he could pick Ronan up face to face and wrap his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck, because this allowed for kissing, and for Adam’s third kink, hair pulling.

Adam loved Ronan’s hands in his hair from day one, but circumstances kept him from truly developing this kink until after he landed a job. Soon after, he was secure enough in the position that he was fairly certain growing his hair longer wouldn't be frowned upon. He’d since grown the tousled mop down to his shoulders and usually wore it half up. 

Today it was wild and loose as he shambled up to the distracted Ronan and leapt in front Ronan, clapping his hands down on his still wet shoulders and glowering at him.

“Christ on toast Adam where the fuck did you come from?!” Ronan squawked.

“You're all wet,” Adam very nearly growled.

“Adam?” Ronan’s voice elevated on the second syllable, warily.

Adam only squinted a glare as he widened his stance and rapidly slid his hands from Ronan’s shoulders and down to his hips before pulling him towards him in a swift jerk. Adam squeezed his arms tight around Ronan, and Ronan knew to hang on tight. Thighs and arms wrapped tightly around Adam, Ronan said only, “Tool Shed.” before he captured Adam’s lips. Adam kept his eyes open as he made quick strides to the nearby structure. Ronan went after his hearing ear and Adam got goosebumps in the hot spring sunshine when he heard Ronan whisper a filthy litany of blasphemous sweet nothings. He swung open the toolshed door and stepped inside to press Ronan’s back to the wall. The smell of grass in the toolshed was intense, and the hose may have rinsed Ronan of sweat but the stank was still present. When Ronan gathered Adam’s hair into his fist to yank hard, exposing Adam’s neck and forcing a rough grunt from his throat. The trifecta of kinks, farmer sweaty, baby animal wrangling Ronan, the hair pulling, and the solid weight of Ronan’s body wrapped around him had turned Adam into a wild animal.

They weren't in the toolshed for long, Adam always focused and hardworking took no time at all turning Ronan into a boneless mess. He emerged five minutes later wiping his mouth and trying to organize his hair in such a way that it wasn't obvious he’d just had it yanked by two tightly clenching fists. He quickly strolled back into the house to check on Cian, who was due to wake up imminently.

The baby monitor showed a still sweetly dozing toddler when Adam returned to the kitchen counter. He chugged a tall glass of water and shook off a tingle that had run up his back and between his shoulders. He heard shuffling and turned towards the door to see a heavy breathing Ronan, stripped to boxers headed straight for him with a smirk. When he reached Adam and started yanking his white v-neck off, he said only, “my turn”.


	14. Some things Ronan did not Understand about California and one thing that he did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan and Adam have been in California for five years but some things are still confusing for the Virginia imports.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell how much I love where I live? Now if only Ronan and Adam would be my neighbors.

By the time Cian was two, the Lynches had been California residents for more than five years. They loved the mild weather, the natural beauty, the prevalence of other people like them, visible and present. However, after spending the first quarter century of his life in Virginia, Ronan was still confused about a few things that seemed to be uniquely Californian.

First, they talked funny. Not in an accent, they mostly sounded like people do on television in movies, which he supposed made sense since so many of those were made in Los Angeles. The Northern Californians had a different sort of speech pattern than the southerners and there were words they fundamentally disagreed on. Californians seemed to call absolutely everyone, from children to pets to employers to grandmothers “dude”. Dude could even be used as something other than a noun, for instance if one were to have a bite of a sandwich that was unexpectedly delicious, one might say “duuude”. Or, if one were to, say, see an alien spaceship throw a big gulp cup out of their window as they flew by, one might exclaim, “DUDE!” in an indignant way. Californians really did not appreciate litterbugs, that was another thing Ronan noticed.

There were other things that puzzled him, like the immediate scowls or admonishments he received if he truncated the word “California” to “Cali”. People practically hissed when he had called it that. The other was calling San Francisco “Frisco” which made people grimace and suck air through their teeth. It was also not to be called “San Fran”, only the proper name or “The City” were acceptable. 

Answering a simple yes or no question was something people in California struggled with. If someone said, “Yeah, no.” what they meant was “Not at all” and when someone said, “No, yeah.” what they meant was yes. If someone said “no-yeah-totally” they meant definitely. Vis a vis the following exchange with the woman who owned the local ice cream parlor that sometimes bought goat milk from Ronan, for making special ice creams:

Ronan: “So did you need five gallons this week?”

Ice cream lady: “No-yeah-totally, five gallons. Yes.”

Ronan: “Hey that kid who dumped the last delivery on the floor doesn't still work there does he?”

Ice Cream Lady: “Yeah no.”

Ronan: “Um?”

Ice Cream lady: “Yeah no, I fired him.”

Ronan: “Okaaaay?”

Ronan often walked away from conversations shaking his head to himself.

Lastly was the complete and total overuse of a simple adjective. This word was used by young and old, professionals and teenagers, absolutely everyone in Northern California. This word was “Hella”. Ronan had long ago stopped rolling his eyes at it, and now Opal and Adam said it all the time too. Ronan may or may not have also begun using it because like hell was he going to miss out on casual profanity. What was interesting though was that people in Southern California vehemently hated the word “hella” and scoffed at it in disdain. Ronan admitted he liked the word even more for this reason, if just to piss people off for being snobs. In any given day, a house guest at the Lynch home might hear:

“Check out this spoon I made, its hella smooth”

“Cian put hella goldfish crackers in my shoes!”

“Camaro, you're hella fat”

“Watch out for that new Alpine buck, he’s hella dumb and hella feisty”

So, Californian’s talked funny and Ronan thought they were weird. The other thing about California that confused Ronan was the food. He’d never had so many options in one place. The diversity of the area meant they could eat authentic ethnic foods from all over the world at any time of day, which was awesome. Ronan especially loved street tacos and could eat a dozen a day. But the weird food things were not the amazing ethnic dishes, but the “California Cuisine”. Californians fucked with perfectly good food and it drove Ronan insane. The iced tea contained no sugar. That came as a shock. Adam liked it a lot, but Ronan spit it out the first time he tasted it. Then there were the snotty coffee bars that would not allow customers to put in their own cream and sugar, the baristas insisting on doing it themselves, often unsubtly insisting that the coffee was perfectly brewed and didn't need cream or sugar before Ronan snatched it up and stormed out. 

Then, and Ronan thought Gansey would love this, they put avocado in abso-fucking-lutely every goddamn thing. Oatmeal, smoothies, toast, hot dogs, pasta salad, deviled eggs, whatever. Then they put things in the avocados. They baked eggs in the avocados, or stuffed them with shrimp salad, or whatever. Ronan didn't dislike them but was simply bewildered at why the people of California seemed to need them to live.

The environment of California was another weird thing. They lived an hour from the coast, and each day they woke to a thick blanket of fog over their property. Most days it burned off by noon and settled back in around dusk. It was lovely, but the Californian’s named the fog. Its name was Carl and it had its own twitter account. Ronan’s eyes had nearly rolled right out of his face. 

The nearby ocean seemed like it would be a nice place to swim and splash and play but they realized quickly that they would need to drive south another six hours before the ocean was warm enough to swim in. The first time Ronan had jumped into the pacific, he thought he might never see his balls again. He shivered under a beach blanket for thirty minutes while Adam laughed until he cried, and then they went home. The ocean was not for swimming. 

However, Ronan and Adam were only four hours away from the Sierras and quickly learned about the awesomeness of snowboarding in nothing but ski pants and a tee shirt, with sunglasses on. From November to April they enjoyed season passes to the ski resorts and leaned the snowboarding vernacular which was like surfer speak for snow bunnies. Shred the pow, indeed.

And another thing! The seasons. Blue had said she could never live out in California because she loved “real seasons” and thought California’s mild climate was too homogenous from day to day to really notice seasonal changes. She wasn't wrong. It was almost never below thirty degrees fahrenheit and almost never over eighty five degrees fahrenheit. There were no blizzards, no tornadoes, no hurricanes. There were tiny earthquakes every few weeks but the worst of California weather was March when it would rain the whole month after February’s cruel false spring. 

But Blue was also wrong because California did have seasons. It had all four of them in the same day. Dreary fall in the morning, spring in the afternoon, summer in late afternoon, and when the cold wind and fog came off the water in the west, Winter at night. It was not unusual to go from hoodie to tank to hoodie throughout the day. People never seemed to need more than a hoodie in the worst weather, and everyone seemed to have sunglasses handy all the time. January could be balmy tee shirt weather, and then August would be freezing, or, as the Californian’s called it, “butt-ass cold” which made no sense at all.

 

The one thing Ronan did understand about California was that it was home. Not a substitute for the home he really wanted, but home. Adam took to California like a duck to water, and though Ronan was more difficult to acclimate, he quickly felt his roots settling into the warm red-brown earth. Redwood trees were amazing things, and the monarch butterflies were a wonder to witness. Opal loved the climbable Oaks and their acorns, as well as the native owls and hawks all over the place. Ronan was stubborn about the sweet tea, but otherwise had to admit he loved it here, mostly because it was theirs, theirs soley, and all memories of this place were his own, and they were all good. Hella good.

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> I live for comments!! ConCrit welcome.


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